953 
C967 

ame 


UC-NRLF 


SB    Ibb    It? 


THE 


AMERICAN  MELODIES, 


IN    THREE     PARTS, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS, 


C. 


THE 


AMERICAN  MELODIES, 


IN  THREE  PARTS, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS, 


BT 


CA8SITJ8    e. 


TRENTON,  ».  J. 

B5CHTSL,  PEIX?BE»r 

1864. 


Eritered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864»  by 

CASSIUS    C.    CULLEN, 
In  th«  Clerk'*  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  New  Jeriey. 


TO  THE 

GALLANT     AND     PATRIOTIC 
SOLDIERS    OF    NEW   JERSEY,    AS    A 
SLIGHT  TRIBUTE  TO  THEIR  HEROIC  CONDUCT, 
UNFLINCHING  GALLANTRY  AND  INVINCIBLE  COURAGE, 
WHICH     HAS    BEEN   TESTED   ON     MANY     A     HARD-FOUGHT,    BLOOD 
STAINED  BATTEFIELD  OF  OUR  COUNTRY,  IN  DEFENCE  OF 
OUR   HOMES  AND   FIRESIDES,  AND   THE   PRE 
SERVATION  OF  OUR  GLORIOUS  UNION, 
THESE    MELODIES    ARK    RES 
PECTFULLY  INSCRIBED 
BT  THX 

AUTHOR. 


M551701 


PREFACE. 


In  presenting  these  Melodies  to  the  American  public,  I  hare  no  apolo 
gies  to  make,  nor  favors  to  ask.  They  were  written  from  time  to  time, 
as  my  feelings  moved  me  or  the  muse  inspired  me.  I  neither  was  actu 
ated  by  any  desire  for  literary  celebrity  or  love  of  fame.  Little  did  I 
imagine,  in  the  composition  of  the  Melodies  which  constitute  the  first 
part,  that  tbey  would  ever  meet  with  publication  ;  but  after  having  writ 
ten  quite  a  large  number,  I  have  succumbed  to  the  desire  of  a  few  friends, 
and  consigned  them  to  the  press. 

I  have  constantly  endeavored  throughout  the  preparation  of  this  work 
to  strictly  adhere  to  my  original  intention  of  making  it  American  in  tone 
and  sentiment.  How  far  I  have  succeeded  in  this  the  public  may  judge. 
Indeed,  I  have  met  with  but  little  stimulation  to  induce  me  to  sing  the 
glories  ot  a  foreign  land.  Our  own  American  forests,  in  all  their  primi 
tive  grandeur  and  sublimity,  present  to  any  lover  of  nature  such  exquisitely 
picturesque  scenery  that  neither  Europe  nor  Asia  can  furnish  their  com 
parison. 

Where  can  be  found  more  noble  streams  than  the  "lordly  Mississippi," 
the  queenly  Ohio,  or  the  graceful  Hudson,  whose  banks  present  unrival 
led  scenery  for  observation  and  study. 

Whatever  sparks  of  genius  these  Melodies  may  possess,  they  can  never 
be  attributed  to  my  scholastic  attainments  or  literary  merit.  They  are 
but  the  offspring  of  imagination  or  the  productions  of  creative  fancy, 
warmed  into  poetic  life  by  an  ardent  love  of  the  beautiful  and  sublime  in 
nature,  which  all  mankind  possess  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  requiring 
but  a  small  degree  of  cultivation  preparatory  to  its  existence  in  verse. 

Owing  to  the  large  class  of  lyrical  writers  who  have  preceded  me,  it 
may  justly  be  inquired:  Do  these  Melodies  possess  any  originality  of 
thought,  or  freshly-created  conceptions?  To  this  interrogatory  I  might 
truly  reply  that,  to  my'  present  knowledge,  there  is  nothing  which  this 
work  contains  that  has  in  any  wise  been  extracted  from  the  productions 
of  another  author,  save  a  few  quotations  which  have  been  inserted  for 
the  sake  of  embellishment,  and  for  which  the  authors  are  (July  accredited. 


6 

Byron,  in  a  preface  to  one  of  his  poems,  loudly  complaint  of  the  diffi 
culty  of  producing  anything  original,  ascribing  as  a  reason  the  volumin 
ous  effusions  of  preceding  poets — and  no  doubt  he  uttered  the  truth. 

Allen  Kamsay,  a  Scotch  poet  of  some  known  celebrity,  who  preceded 
him  by  about  half  a  century,  in  the  preface  to  hii  works,  made  use  of  the 
following  significant  language : — "  Throughout  the  whole  I  hare  only 
copied  from  nature ;  and,  with  all  precaution,  have  studied,  as  far  as  it 
came  within  the  ken  of  my  observation  and  memory,  not  to  repeat  what 
has  already  been  said  by  others,  though  it  be  next  to  impossible  some 
times  to  stand  clear  of  them,  especially  in  the  little  love  plots  of  a  song." 

Here,  then,  is  a  writer  who  flourished  in  the  beginning  of  the  eigh 
teenth  century,  when  lyrical  composition  was  almost  in  its  infancy,  build 
ing  up  the  same  plea  as  his  more  illustrious  compeer.  If  a  writer  living 
in  that  early  age  appeals  to  the  public  for  a  justification  of  what  may  be 
styled  a  repetition  of  other  author's  productions,  it  may  well  be  inquired 
what  cause  have  I  for  the  same.  Since  the  days  of  Kamsay  a  numerous 
class  of  lyrical  poets  have  flourished,  as  well  as  epic,  which  leaves  it  still 
more  difficult  to  avoid  stumbling  upon  any  of  their  productions.  Thomas 
Moore,  who  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  voluminous  of  English  song  com 
posers  has  his  fame  nearly,  if  not  entirely,  founded  upon  his  melodies; 
and  the  same  might  be  applied  to  Burns.  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  left  be 
hind  him  various  specimens  in  this  style  of  composition. 

I  might  proceed  still  further,  and  enumerate  others  of  the  same  kind- 
dred;  but  let  these  suffice.  I  furnish  these  illustrations  merely  as  a  basis 
upon  which  to  erect  my  justification,  provided  there  may  be  found  in  my 
writings  a  single  thought  or  simile  justly  belonging  to  another  author. 

With  these  few  remarks,  I  submit  these  Melodies  to  the  learned  world, 
conscious  of  the  many  imperfections  they  may  contain,  yet  basing  my 
vindication  on  the  ground  that  they  were  published  at  the  desire  of  a  few 
friends,  and  with  little  or  no  preparation  for  the  press. 


THE 

AMERICAN  MELODIES. 


CONSISTING    Or    A    KU3IBXK    07    ORIGINAL    AMERICAN 

COMPOSED   BEHIND  THE   PLOW   PRIOR  TO   THE 
WAR   FOR  THB   UNION. 


"How  dear  to  this  heart  ar«  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, 

When  fond  recollection  presents  them  to  view ; 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wildwood, 
And  eVry  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew." 

—SAMUEL  WADSWOSTH. 


WAR  SONG. 

Americans,  your  fathers  dead 
Call  from  their  glorious,  honored  bed, 
And  point  to  rivers  running  red, 
All  gory  with  their  blood. 

And  do  you  hear  their  warning  voice? 
O,  ye !  their  hope,  their  pride,  their  choice ! 
They  tell  you  of  the  costly  price 
Of  your  own  Liberty. 

Behold  upon  your  soil  the  slaves  ! 
And  will  you  view  them  there,  ye  braves, 
To  tread  your  fathers'  holy  graves 
'Neath  their  unhallowed  feet? 

No !  by  our  God  who  reigns  above  ! 
No!  by  our  freedom  which  we  love! 
No!  by  our  swords  whose  steel  shall  prove, 
They'll  never  touch  this  soil. 

For  sacred  is  each  blood-dyed  plain  ; 
Where  they  were  murdered,  they  were  slain, 
And  long  as  blood  shall  course  a  vein, 
We  will  protect  each  tomb. 

Since  they  for  us  did  willing  die, 
Then  who  could  their  last  wish  deny- 
To  shield  their  dust  where  it  doth  lie, 
Or  perish  by  its  side  ? 


10 


Long  as  the  Rocky  Mountains  stand, 
Or  Mississippi's  waters  grand 
Flow  through  our  broad  and  stretching  land, 
Their  holy  graves  are  ours. 

How  dare  they  land  upon  our  sod, 
Made  sacred  to  none  but  our  God, 
Do  they  expect  we'll  bear  their  rod, 
And  meekly  be  chained  down  ? 

No,  never !  may  our  watchword  be, 
Give  us  Death  or  Liberty  ! 
For  who  could  live,  and  not  be  free, 
Chained  to  their  cursed  yoke? 

Then  sleep,  our  fathers !  no  vile  slave 
Shall  crawl  across  one  sacred  grave, 
While  guarded  by  your  sons  so  brave, 
The  sons  of  Liberty. 

For  every  rod  we  will  dispute, 
Till  we  from  us  the  oppressors  root ; 
Before  they'll  gain  one  inch,  one  foot, 
They'll  wade  through  seas  of  blood. 


STUNG  BY  EEMORSE,  WE  OFT  LOOK  BACK. 
Stung  by  remorse,  we  oft  look  back, 

On  days  we  idly  let  pass  by, 
And  wish  that  we  could  live  them  o'er, 

A  better  course  of  life  to  try. 
But  what  is  past,  is  past  and  gone, 

And  never  will  return  again  ; 
Improve  the  present  while  it's  thine, 

Or  w$  may  view  e'en  it  with 


11 

ON  WASHINGTON. 

"  The  Father  of  his  Country." 

"  First  in  War,  first  in  Peace,  and  first  in  the  Heart*  «f  hi«  Country* 
men." 

"  0  wake  not  the  hero,  his  battles  are  o'er, 
Let  him  rest  undisturbed  by  Potomac's  fair  short; 
By  the  river's  green  border  so  flowery  drest, 
With  the  hearts  he  loved  fondly,  let  Washington  rest." 

How  fair  does  roll  the  placid  wave 

Which  beats  hard  by  the  hero's  grave  ! 

How  lovely  are  the  banks  below, 

Which  skirt  the  waters  as  they  flow, 

While  moving  on  their  flow'ry  way, 

Seem  loth  to  meet  the  briny  bay.  . :.» 

Such  is  the  stream  that  rolls  so  sweet, 

Beneath  the  hero-patriot's  feet ; 

'Tis  seen  from  rise  to  set  of  sun, 

That  tomb — the  grave  of  Washington ! 

Rest,  noble  Chief!  and  may  the  fires 
Inspire  the  sons  which  flamed  their  sirw ; 
So,  when  disunion  draws  the  blade, 
No  dreader  watchword  need  be  made, 
To  drive  those  fiends  to  terror — shame — 
Than  sound  abroad  thy  glorious  name. 
Then  would  Columbia's  millions  rise, 
To  shield  each  hero  where  he  lies-; 
'Twould  strike  those  traitors  trembling  duasb, 
Would  thy  gr^eat  name,  our  Washington ! 

Thy  name  shall  live  till  time  will  cease, 
A  household  word  through  war  and  peaca, 
A  rallying  sound  for  freedom's  band, 
The  watchword  of  your  native  Un4  j 


12 


The  pride  of  children  yet  unborn, 
The  brilliant  eun  of  freedom's  morn, 
Who  led  the  road  and  trod-the  path 
That  leads  to  "liberty  or  death  !" 
Whose  grateful  land  through  time  to  come; 
Will  boast  the  name  of  Washington  ! 


DEAE  LAND  OF  MY  FATHERS,  WITH  WHAT  FOND 

ENDEARMENTS. 
Dear  land  of  my  fathers,  with  what  fond  endearments, 

Afar  o'er  the  ocean,  in  some  foreign  clime, 
My  heart  swells  with  rapture,  my  soul  with  emotion, 
As  proudly  I  claim  that  Columbia  is  mine. 

Her  mem'ry  unfading  shall  dwell  in  rny  bosom, 
While  nobly  I'll  boast  of  the  land  of  the  free ; 

As  I  stray  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine  or  the  Danube, 
I'll  love  thee  more  dear,  though  far  distant  from  me. 

Alone  I  may  stray  by  the  wandering  Niger,* 
Alone  I  may  sit  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile  ;f 

But  still,  though  the  distance  grow  wider  between  us, 
More  fondly  I'll  love  thee  at  each  length'ning  mile, 

I  may  tread  the  turf  by  the  shore  of  the  Ganges,  t 
And  feast  with  delight  in  the  cool  orange  grove, 

May  bathe  in  the  breeze  of  an  Indian  summer, 
But  can  I  forget  thee.  dear  land  offny  love? 

*The  largest  navigable  stream  in  Africa ;  the  source  of  which  WM  s 
matter  of  considerable  comment  among  the  ancient*, 
fThe  much  celebrated  river  of  Egypt. 
$Tbe  idolized  stream  of  Hindoostau, 


13 


0  no ;  though  I  dwell  in  the  cold  Polar  regions, 
Or  roam  or  reside  in  the  hot  Torrid  zone, 

E'en  then  will  I  think  on  thee,  land  of  my  fathers, 
And  drop  a  sad  tear  for  my  country,  my  home. 


0  DEAR,  HONORED  DAY.* 

Independence  now,  and  independence  forerer. — DANIBL  WEBSTER. 
TUNE — "The  American  Star." 

0,  dear  honored  day,  how  I  feel  the  emotion 

Arise  in  my  bosom  when  thinking  on  thee ; 
I  turn  with  affection,  the  warmest  devotion, 

To  honor  those  martyrs  who  gave  thee  to  me. 

But  where  are  those  martyrs,  my  country's  great  glory  ? 

Where's  Livingston,  Adams,  her  Jefferson  gone? 
Emblazoned  their  mem'ry  shall  circle  in  story, 

Their  fame  lives  behind  them,  though  set  is  their  sun. 

Our  Washington  slumbers,  and  ne'er  shall  awaken, 

To  lead  freedom's  brave  sons  to  victory  on  ; 
His  mem'ry  is  sacred  whose  soul  stood  unshaken, 

Through  lust  of  ambition  for  the  cause  he  had  won. 

Farewell,  then,  ye  heroes ;  for  long  as  in  mourning 
Your  country  the  loss  of  her  pride  shall  deplore, 

For  when  treason  was  rife,  and  its  dark  tempest  lowering, 
Stood  constant  and  firm  to  the  cause  which  ye  bore. 

*The  above  stanzas  were  composed  for  the  4th  of  July,  1860,  on  the 
summit  of  a  lofty  eminence  overlooking  West  Point,  on  the  Hudson,  the 
Mat  of  the  United  State*  Military  Academy,  on  th«  road  from  Fishkiil  to 
Cold  Spring. 


14 

Then  rest  y«  yourselves  while  your  country  keeps  weeping, 
And  Columbia's  tears  fall  to  moisten  the  sod ; 

They'll  value  the  prize  you  have  left  to  their  keeping, 
And  bow  down  the  knee  to  no  king  but  their  God. 


BANKS  OF  CHAMPLAIN.* 
I  have  roamed  the  east,  I've  roamed  the  west, 

I  have  roamed  from  Florida  to  Maine  ; 
0,  recall  me  now  to  take  my  rest, 

On  the  lovely  banks  of  sweet  Champlain. 

. 
I  have  etood  by  Mississippi's  shore, 

And  the  broad  Missouri  stream  in  vain, 
For  to  find  a  place  that  I'd  love  more, 

Than  the  lovely  banks  of  fair  Champlain. 

,f--5 

I  have  climbed  the  Rocky  Mountains  high, 
And  have  stood  beside  the  Western  main  ; 

But  no  place  so  charming  could  I  view, 
As  the  lovely  banks  of  dear  Champlain. 

I  have  been  on  England's  fruitful  soil, 
And  reviewed  the  sunny  land  of  Spain  ; 

O,  then  call  me  from  my  rambling  toil,  '  * 

To  the  lovely  banks  of  calm  Champlain. 

No ;  I  have  roamed  the  world  all  round, 

Nor  shall  I  wish  to  roam  again — 
I  am  well  content ;  no  place  I've  found, 

Iiike  the  lovely  banks  of  sweet  Champlain. 

Compos«d  sitting  OH  the  chore  of  Lake  Champlain,  at  the  beautifuj 
of  Burlington,  fa  tfc«  Steto  of  Vermont,  in  September,  1358, 


15 

BEHOLD  THE  PROUD  FREEMAN  BY  HIS  LOVELY 
OHIO.* 

Behold  the  proud  freeman  by  his  lovely  Ohio ! 

He  roams  unafraid,  for  he  knows  that  he's  free ; 
He  asks  but  his  freedom,  with  peace  and  contentment, 

To  monarchs  or  tyrants  he  won't  bend  the  knee. 

How  fair  are  the  banks  of  the  great  Yang-tse-ki-ang,f 
Where  pineapples  flourish  and  citron  trees  wave ! 

But  tell  me  who're  those  that  rejoice  by  its  waters — 
Are  they  not  the  foot-stool  of  tyrants,  the  slave  ? 

The  slaves  may  rejoice  in  their  groves  of  sweet  oranges; 

Of  Cashmere  and  Ganges  j  exultantly  boast ; 
They  may  sit  in  the  shade  of  the  palm  and  the  olive — 

Delight  in  the  fruit  of  their  coral-bound  coast. 

Away  with  such  splendors,  that  dazzle  and  brighten, 

But  give  me  a  home  by  Ohio  so  dear ; 
It's  there  let  me  ramble,  it's  there  let  me  wander, 

Where  tyrants  might  quake  and  kings  tremble  with  fear. 

#Composed  while  a  resident  of  Lawrence  county,  Ohio,  on  the  banks  of 
the  above  named  stream. 

fA  noble  river  of  China;  next  in  length  to  the  Mississippi,  and  called 
by  the  Chinese  "  Mother  of  Waters." 

JA  famous  valley  and  river  in  India;  the  former  the  poet  Moore  ha« 
immortalized  in  verse. 


0 !  GIVE  ME  MY  HOME  IN  THE  WEST  I 

TUNE— "There's  a  Spot  that  I  Love." 
I  have  wandered  where  luxury  revels  with  pride, 

Where  pleasure  has  made  man  her  slave ; 
With  reluctance  I've  tasted  her  follies,  and  sighed 

For  my  home  where  the  forest  trees  wave, 


16 


O,  give  me  the  hum  of  the  wild,  busy  bee, 

And  the  song  of  the  robin-red-breast ; 
0,  give  me  the  shade  of  the  spreading  beech  tree— 

O,  give  me  my  home  in  the  West. 

How  dear  to  this  heart  is  each  verdant  retreat, 

Those  groves  of  old  sycamore  trees, 
Beneath  whose  huge  branches  I've  gazed  at  the  wheat 

As  it  swayed  in  the  breath  of  the  breeze  ; 
And  happy  is  he  who  those  green  hills  does  roam, 

With  health  and  with  freedom  possessed ; 
As  for  me,  all  I  ask,  all  I  want  is  my  home — 

O,  give  me  my  home  in  the  West ! 

To  pluck  the  wild  flowers  that  grew  in  the  bog, 

With  light  heart  I  bounded  along, 
While  the  creak  of  the  cricket,  the  croak  of  the  frog, 

Would  lull  me  when  evening  was  long. 
Why  need  I  recall  the  gone  days  that  are  past, 

In  this  bosom  lie  hallowed  and  blest ; 
If  I  had  but  one  wish,  and  that  wish  was  my  last— 

0,  give  me  my  home  in  the  West! 


HOW  LONG  COULD  I  SIT  ON  THY  BEACH,  LOVELY 

ERIE?* 
How  long  could  I  sit  on  thy  beach,  lovely  Erie  ? 

And  o'er  thy  blue  waters  enrapturing  gaze ; 
The  sight  is  enchanting  to  one  who  is  weary, 
To  gaze  on  thy  flood  and  thy  dancing  blue  waves. 

*Ii  was  a  lovely  evening  in  the  Autumn  of  1853,  when,  sitting  on  th« 
of  this  romantic  lake,  I  penned  the  above  lines. 


17 


In  the  distance  the  ships,  with  their  full  swelling  eaili, 
Appear  like  the  swan  with  her  out-spreading  wings; 

For,  so  soft  over  thy  lake  blows  the  favoring  gale*. 
And  safe  to  her  port  the  expected  ship  brings. 

How  fair  is  the  sight  at  the  close  of  the  evening, 

Beneath  the  deep  shade  of  some  tall-spreading  tree, 
The  beauties  of  nature  to  drive  away  grieving, 

And  Erie's  fair  charms  to  illumine  the  e'e ; 
For  the  sun  when  he's  setting  his  last  golden  rays 

On  thy  flashing  waters,  O,  Erie  I  so  bright,* 
He  eeems  to  light  up  all  thy  waves  in  one  blaze, 

Ae,  kissing  thy  bosom,  he  sinks  for  the  night. 


THE  NEW  ENGLANDER'3  FAREWELL.f 
Farewell !  Farewell,  New  England's  shore  I 

Farewell,  land  of  the  free  ! 
Now  I  must  ride  the  bounding  wave 

And  leave  thee  in  the  lea. 
When  I  am  far  and  far  away. 

Upon  the  Frenchman's  shore. 
In  dreams  I'll  ride  the  western  wave 

And  walk  New  England  more. 

And  when,  by  Versailles'^  founts  I  rove. 

And  by  Napoleon's  grave, 
My  heart  shall  heave  one  sigh  for  thee 

Behind  the  foaming  wave  ; 

*A  beautilul  scenery,  and  worthy  of  observation. 

^Composed  in  Belpre,  Washington  County,  Ohio,  January,  18of, 

t  A  place  in  France  noted  for  its  beautiful  fountains. 


18 

And  when  Brittania's  coast  shall  rear 

Its  frowning  points  to  me, 
Again  Pll  think  of  the  sweet  land— 

My  home  beyond  the  sea. 

Farewell,  farewell,  my  lovely  land, 

A  long  farewell  to  thee  ; 
The  sea  that  madly  rolls  between, 

Shall  foam  'twixt  thee  and  me. 
New  England,  dear !  New  England,  fair ! 

'Tis  for  thy  shores  I'll  die ; 
I  cannot  think  of  thee  but  what 

My  heart  shall  rend  and  sigh. 


WHEN  I  WAS  A  YOUNG  LAB.* 

TUNE— "Kinloch  of  Kinloch." 
When  I  was  a  young  lad,  with  what  rapture  I  scrambled 

The  towering,  the  bold  hills  of  the  State  of  New  York, 
How  often  delighted,  I'd  pause  as  I  rambled, 

To  list  to  the  song  of  the  robin  and  lark ; 
And  sweet  were  their  notes,  through  each  valley  resounding, 

As  high  I  ascended,  'till  full  in  my  view 
I  gazed  at  Ontario's  waters  rebounding, 

Afar  in  the  distance  her  waves  rolling  blue. 

What  pleasure  was  mine,  while  my  eyes  were  regaling 
Themselves,  'neath  the  shade  of  the  wide-spreading  trew. 

At  ships  that  afar,  under  white  canvas  sailing, 
As,  spurning  the  waves,  they  bore  down  with  the  breeit ; 

•Written  to  commemorate  the  early  ecenei  of  mj  childhood. 


19 

But  now  Fm  removed  from  the  haunts  of  my  childhood- 
No  more  shall  I  roam  the  green  valleys  along — 

No  more  shall  I  stray  through  the  dark,  pathless  wildwood, 
And  hark  to  the  robins'  mellifluous  song. 

No  more  shall  I  climb  the  steep  hills  I  ascended, 

Where  once  I  beheld  the  most  beautiful  scene — 
The  wide-spreading  landscape,  the  prospect  oft  blended 

With  tall  growing  oak  trees  and  meadows  in  green. 
Farewell !  now  dear  scenes,  I  must  mourn  your  departure  ; 

Ye  past  early  visions,  I'll  see  you  no  more ; 
But,  if  I  should  see  you,  'tis  not  with  the  rapture 

Once  courted  when  young  by  Ontario's  shore. 


MY  HEART  I  LEAVE  BEHIND  ME. 
TUNE— "The  Girl  I  left  Behind  Me." 

Now,  I  must  go,  far,  far  away, 

Upon  the  angry  wide  sea  ; 
But,  be  it  wheresoe'er  I  stray, 

My  heart  I  leave  behind  me. 

But,  Oh  !  it  gives  me  aching  pain 
To  leave  those  I  love  kindly, 

For,  Oh  !  I  cannot  love  again — 
My  heart  I  leave  behind  me. 

But  that  I  might  have  still  possess'd, 
If  Td  not  loved  so  blindly ; 

But  now  the  time  is  gone  and  past— 
My  heart  I  leave  behind  mt. 


20 

There's  Sarah,  she  has  won  my  heart, 
And  won  it  BO  divinely, 

With  all  I  own  I  now  must  part— 
My  heart  I  leave  behind  me. 

Where'er  I  roam,  as  is  my  lot, 
Misfortune's  sure  to  find  me  ; 

Ae  Cupid  drives  his  matchless  shot, 
My  heart  I  leave  behind  me. 

Now  I  must  go,  far,  far  away, 
Upon  the  angry  wide  sea  ; 

But  be  it  whereso'er  I  stray, 
My  heart  I  leave  behind  me. 


THE  HEART. 
In  some  the  heart  is  like  the  flower,, 

So  tender  and  so  frail ; 
It  blooms  in  sweet  affection's  bower, 

Or  withers  in  a  gale. 
In  some  the  heart  is  always  gay — 

Free  from  the  cares  of  life  ; 
With  them  life's  one  bright,  sunny  day, 

Devoid  of  sorrow,  strife. 

There's  some  who  yet  possess  a  heart. 

As  hard  as  flint  or  stone — 
In  deeds  of  kindness  take  no  part, 

Nor  heed  the  orphan's  moan. 
Such  hearts  as  this  are  not  humane — 

The  brute  possesses  more  ; 
Tke  dog  has  howled  o'er  master  slain, 

And  whined  at  human  gore. 


21 


ALONG  CAYUGA'S  SHORE  I  STRAYED. 

Along  Cayuga's*  shore  I  strayed, 

With  Mary  on  my  arm  reclining ; 
The  golden  sun  his  beams  delayed, 

The  sultry  day  seemed  slow  declining. 
Beneath  a  willow  tree  I  lay 

To  watch  the  sparkling  waves  receding, 
Around  all  nature  seemed  so  gay, 

The  golden  wheat  was  gently  waving. 

And  turning  to  my  darling  love, 

Sweet  maid,  I  said,  when  love's  first  waking. 
Have  pity,  for  I  swear,  by  Jove. 

For  thee  my  heart  is  almost  breaking. 
Here  by  this  lovely  lake  alone — 

Here  on  its  charming  shore  together. 
Come  let  us  vow  we  will  be  one, 

That  nought  but  death  can  us  dissever. 


LOVELY  BOSTON  BAY. 
Let  not  the  angry  waves  that  roll 

Upon  the  pebbly  beach, 
Let  not  the  sea-gulPs  restless  wing, 

Nor  sea-fowl's  dismal  screech, 
Disturb  thy  slumbers,  Annie, 

But  peaceful  mayst  thou  lay, 
Beside  the  blue  and  sparkling  wave*, 

Of  lovely  Boston  Bay. 

*Thia  is  one  of  that  numerous  group  of  lakes  situated  in  oentral  New 
Y«rk,  in  which  that  portion  of  the  State  so  much  abound.     They  ar« 
celebrated  for  their  sublime  grandeur  and  romantic  loenery. 


22 


Green  ever  grow  the  trees  around, 

Throughout  the  rolling  year, 
And  gently  fall  the  morning  dews, 

With  soft,  refreshing  tear ; 
Upon  thy  grave  those  blooming  flowers, 

0,  may  they  ne'er  decay, 
With  those  which  skirt  the  restless  waven 

Of  lovely  Boston  Bay. 

Blow  mild,  each  gentle  zephyr, 

Blow  soft,  each  morning  gale, 
That  wafts  the  thrush's  music 

From  out  each  verdant  dale  ; 
Be  still,  ye  boisterous  whirlwinds, 

Nor  mar  her  slumbering  clay, 
Which  rests  beside  the  rolling  wavei 

Of  lovely  Boston  Bay. 

Then  let  her  ashes  peacefully, 

In  silent  stillness  rest, 
Nor  call  her  spirit  back  again, 

From  the  regions  of  the  bleat. 
And  all  ye  feathery  songsters, 

And  ye  of  plumage  gay, 
Tune  low  and  sweet  your  requiem  songi 

By  lovely  Boston  Bay. 


SWEET  PHEBE. 
Sweet  Phebe,  alas !  you  have  driven 

In  me  love's  unmerciful  dart ; 
When  I  gaze  on  thee,  angel  of  Hearen> 

It  pierces  me  clean  to  the  heart. 


Why  not,  by  this  beautiful  river, 
But  promise  me  once  to  be  mine? 

In  this  world  nothing  can  us  dissever— 
Our  vows  we  will  hold  as  divine. 

Then  answer  me,  Phebe,  then  answer ; 

Why  linger  the  words  in  thy  breast  ? 
0,  give  me  a  cure  for  the  cancer 

That's  eating  a  hole  in  my  chest. 
If  you  say  you're  not  mine,  then's  extended 

The  disease  that  is  tearing  my  heart; 
But  if  you  say  yes,  then  'tis  ended — 

The  pain  will  then  cease  for  to  smart. 

Why,  why  do  you  keep  me  in  waiting  ? 

0,  answer  me,  Phebe,  then  why  ? 
For  hours  I've  been  pleading  and  stating, 

Without  thee  I  surely  must  die. 
But  if  you'll  not  hear  me,  then  hearken : 

To  say  a  word  more  I  am  bent — 
The  rule  is  that  always  in  sparking, 

Mute  silence  stands  good  for  consent. 


0,  COME,  MY  LOVE,  AND  ROVE  WITH  ME. 

TUNE — "  Otsian'a  Serenade." 
Come  brave  the  noisy  haunts  of  men, 
And  let  us  rove  the  silent  glen  j 
Let  us  partake  the  mountain  air, 
And  view  below  the  valleys  fair, 
And  view  the  lambs  in  pasture  fret ; 
0,  come,  my  love,  and  rov«  with  me. 


24 


We'll  cull  the  wild  flowers  by  the  creek, 
The  vagrant  zephyrs  we  will  seek  ; 
Beneath  the  cooling  shade  we'll  rest, 
Till  Phoabus'  beams  will  seek  the  west ; 
The  fields  arrayed  in  green  we'll  see — 
0,  come,  my  love,  and  rove  with  me. 

Far  o'er  the  mountain  tops  we'll  stray, 
Till  dusky  evening  closes  day  ; 
0,  there  we'll  pass  the  fleeing  hour, 
While  gay  plumed  birds  in  every  bower, 
Shall  chaunt  their  sweetest  songs  to  thee- 
0,  come,  my  love,  and  rove  with  me. 

The  mountain  streams  so  glassy  clear, 
Shall  murmur  music  in  thy  ear, 
As  o'er  the  craggy  rocks  they  gleam. 
And  fall  to  join  some  other  stream  : 
Then  to  its  mossy  source  we'll  flee — 
0,  come,  my  love,  and  rove  with  me. 


YE  FACTIONS  THAT  THY  TO  DISSOLVE  THIS  GREAT 
UNION.* 

Ye  factions  that  try  to  dissolve  this  great  Union, 

May  the  blood  of  your  fathers  on  your  heads  only  lie ; 

When  the  North  and  the  South  have  divided  communion, 
May  their  ghosts  haunt  your  forms  till  the  day  that  ye  die. 

For  they  gave  you  a  gift  which  was  well  worth  your  keeping, 
Which  you  vowed  to  protect,  which  you  awore  to  defend, 

And  cursed  is  the  one  who  would  mar  them  while  sleeping : 
Unwept,  unlamented  his  life  may  he  end. 

*  Written  during  the  political  agitation  ef  1864. 


25 

If  but  once  thofid  warm  ties  which  connect  us  are  broken, 
Where's  the  one  who'll  select  the  wide  breach  to  repair? 

When  the  fire  of  resentment  and  hatred's  awaken, 
Unextinguished,  for  ages  'twill  eternally  glare. 

O,  then,  never,  ye  sons  of  Columbia,  0,  never! 

Be  ye  found  to  perform  such  a  vile,  cursed  deed, 
Of  this  great,  glorious  Union  the  links  to  dissever, 

To  join  which  our  fathers  did  perish  and  bleed. 


LIBERTY'S  SHRINE. 

From  Texas,  that  throws  out  her  wide  spreading  prairie, 
To  Maine,  which  exults  in  her  forests  of  pine, 

Exists  there  a  race.     'Tis  the  home  of  the  freeman, 
'Tie  the  land  which  lies  sacred  to  Liberty's  shrine. 

And  long  as  our  Eagle  shall  over  us  hover, 
The  star  of  our  Empire  shall  never  descend ; 

While  bright  are  our  streams,  or  green  are  our  valleys, 
To  none  but  our  God  will  our  knee  ever  bend. 

Then  woe  to  the  despot  who'd  try  to  enslave  us, 
And  woe  to  the  tyrant  that  would  us  enthrall : 

For  thousands  of  swords  would  leap  forth  from  their  scabbards, 
And  thousands  of  freemen  rise  at  freedom's  first  call. 

The  mountains  would  teem  with  the  millions  descending, 
The  earth  would  be  darkened  with  freemen  in  arms, 

And  over  our  hills,  fields  and  prairies,  far  wending, 
They'd  rise  in  their  might,  roused  by  war's  stern  alarms. 

2 


26 

FLOAT  ON,  NOBLE  BANNER, 
To  the  American  Flag. 

Float  on,  noble  banner,  protected  by  millions — 

Display  thy  proud  folds  to  the  wind ; 
Not  the  foul,  crouching  traitor — the  basest  of  villains — 

Can  tear  thee  from  where  them  art  pinned. 

For  eacred  thou  art,  0,  thou  banner  long  cherished 

With  fond  and  unquenchable  pride ; 
It  was  7neath  thy  stripes  where  our  forefathers  perished, 

And  'neath  thy  bright  stars  where  they  died. 

Then  how  could  we  stand  by,  beholding  thee  riven, 

Thou  flag  so  immortally  blest? 
No,  never !  while  blazes  the  sun  in  yon  Heaven, 

Or  blood  courses  through  any  breast. 

And  when  the  war  sounds  through  Columbia,  alarming 

Her  sons  to  the  battle  to  fly, 
While  gazing  upon  thee  for  battle  he's  arming, 

He'll  turn  from  thy  folds  for  to  sigh. 

For  a  moment  he'll  think  of  his  fathers  departed — 

Of  blood  that  was  spilt  in  his  cause ; 
But  short  is  the  while  he  will  stand  stricken-hearted — 

That  moment  is  sorrow's  sad  pause. 

From  his  eyes  he  will  dry  the  sad  tears  that  were  gushing— 

In  vengeance  they'll  flash  for  the  slain  ;% 
And  shouting  his  watch-cry  to  battle  when  rushing— 

My  fathers,  you've  .died  not  in  vain ! 


27 

0,  WELL  MAY  YE  BOAST,  YE  PROUD  SONS  OF  CO 
LUMBIA.*       . 

0,  well  may  yc  boast,  ye  proud  eons  of  Columbia, 
Let  England's  old  Lion  in  her  fierceness  delight, 

But  yc  arc  as  free  as  the  eagle — your  emblem — 
That  eoare  to  the  sun  in  her  far,  lofty  flight. 

But  0,  then  remember,  ye  sons  of  brave  freemen, 
How  costly  and  dearly  that  freedom  was  bought ; 

Just  think  on  the  red  fields  of  White  Plains  and  Camden, 
And  Bunker  Hill  bloody,  where  bravely  they  fought. 

But  now  they  have  gone — those  dear  martyrs  have  perished, 
And  Washington,  dearest  of  all — he  has  fled ; 

Then  let  us  remember  our  rights  and  our  country — 
Embalm  in  our  bosoms  the  names  of  those  dead. 

The  bold,  bold  American,  proud  of  his  country, 
Laughs  at  the  slaves  as  they  kneel  to  their  lords ; 

He  scorns  the  foul  treason  oppression  doth  gather, 
And  turns  with  disgust  from  the  gold  which  it  hoards. 


WHEN  DARK  CLOUDS  OF  SORROW. 

When  dark  clouds  of  sorrow  and  trouble  roll  o'er  us — 
Misfortunes  unnumbered  should  gather  before  us — 
'Tis  pleasant  to  think  that  a  true  friend  is  left  us — 
That  adversity's  hand's  not  entirely  bereft  us. 

*This  WM  ono  of  my  earliest  compositions,  and  the  first  that  appeared 
in  priat ;  being  published  in  a  Virginia  newspaper,  bordering  the  Ohio 
Biren 


HOW  SECURE  DOES  COLUMBIA  SLUMBER. 
How  s.eeure  docs  Columbia  clumber, 

Nor  fear  any  danger  that's  nigh, 
While  true  hearts  there  are  without  number, 

To  defend  her,  her  freedom,  or  die. 

• 

O,  then  ye  who  would  threaten  commotion, 

And  disunion  exultantly  greet, 
She  stands  firm  as  a  rock  in  the  ocean, 

On  which  billows  unceasingly  beat. 

By  the  millions  her  true  sons  would  rally, 
If  strife  should  endanger  her  shore ; 

They  would  pour  from  each  mountain  and  valley, 
And  fight  like  their  fathers  of  yort. 

Columbia,  thy  Union's  forever ! 

And  blest  are  the  true  and  the  brave ; 
And  cursed  is  the  one  who'd  dissever, 

The  gift  which  our  forefathers  gave. 


THE  KISS. 

Allow  me  to  imprint  a  kiss 
Upon  thy  rosy  cheek,  dear  Miss ; 
Then  to  express  the  joy  I'd  feel — 
The  wounds  of  sorrow  it  would  heal. 
I'm  sure  'twould  give  me  great  relief, 
And  banish  future  cause  of  grief; 
But,  oh  1  the  woe  if  you'd  refuse  1 
The  former  wounds  it  would  unloose ; 
They'd  freshly  bleed,  and  daily  gain- 
Still  keep  increasing  with  the  pain. 


BESIDE  THE  SUSQUEHANNA. 
The  flowers  are  blooming  freah  and  fair, 
The  lambs  are  sporting  everywhere — • 
Come,  let  us  hie  away  from  care, 
Beside  the  Susquehanna. 

While  April,  joyous  in  her  birth, 
Awakes  each  tender  stem  from  earth, 
And  rampant  all  appears  with  mirth, 
Beside  the  Susquehanna. 

Then  come  with  me,  my  own  true  love, 
And  stray  with  me  each  shady  grove ; 
Far  o'er  the  mounds  and  banks  we'll  rove, 
Which  skirt  the  Susquehanna. 

The  robin  there  shall  tune  his  song — 
The  echoing  vales  the  notes  prolong — 
While  to  the  sound  shall  dance  along, 
The  sparkling  Susquehanna. 

'Tis  there  where  lovers  love  to  meet ; 
'Tis  there  where  lovers  choose  to  greet, 
And  spend  the  passing  hours  so  sweet, 
Beside  the  Susquehanna. 

Then  hie  with  me,  my  dark-eyed  maid ; 

We'll  seek  the  cool  and  welcome  shade, 

WThere  we  can  rove  the  fragrant  glade, 

Beside  the  Susquehanna. 

Naught  can  disturb  our  calm  repose, 
Where  blooms  the  lonely  woodland  rose; 
Then  come,  till  evening's  curtains  close 
Along  the  Susquehanna. 


30 

ERIE'S  SHORE. 

O,  how  I  lore 

At  eve  to  rove, 
Where  Erie  rolls  her  water  I 

Give  me  no  more 

Than  Erie's  shore, 
To  roam  with  Idon's  daughter. 

When  night  unban 

Her  golden  stars, 
Across  her  waters  darkling, 

On  Erie  bright, 

At  ope  of  night, 
A  thousand  gems  lie  sparkling. 

O,  lovely  lake, 

How  gently  break, 
The  waves  against  thy  border  I 

Upon  the  rock 

They  softly  knock, 
Though  storms  may  make  them  loudajr. 

And  when  I  mark 

The  fisher's  bark, 
Across  the  blue  waves  dashing, 

As  to  the  shore 

He  bends  his  oar, 
The  spray  around  him  flashing. 

O,  how  I  love 

At  eve  to  rove, 
Where  Erie  rolls  her  water  1 

Give  me  no  more 

Than  Erie's  shore, 
To  roam  with  Idon's  daughter. 


31 

BANKS  OF  MOHAWK.* 
TUNE— "Kinloch  of  Kinloch." 
When  merry  and  gay  in  the  days  of  my  childhood, 

How  oft,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  I'd  walk 
To  cull  the  wild  flowers  which  grew  in  the  wildwood, 

Or  carelessly  strayed  by  the  banks  of  Mohawk. 
How  mellow  the  chime  of  the  village  bells  ringing, 

The  lark's  evening  song,  with  the  woodpecker's  knock 
On  the  old  hollow  tree,  while  the  country  maid's  singing 

Mellifluous  'rose  from  the  banks  of  Mohawk. 
And  many  an  hour  of  the  noon-day  I've  squandered, 

As,  poised  in  the  shade,  I  would  gaze  at  my  flock, 
Or,  oft  on  the  beach,  as  I  daily  have  wandered, 

The  pebbles  to  find  by  the  banks  of  Mohawk. 
But  what  were  those  scenes,  when  compared  with  the  pleasur* 

I  fancied  I  felt  as  I'd  merrily  talk 
With  my  wild  rustic  bride,  or  would  wander  at  leisure 

Down  by  the  green  lawn  on  the  banks  of  Mohawk. 
But  gone  are  those  days  which  I  once  fondly  cherished — • 

As  Time  flies,  he  seems  but  my  feelings  to  mock, 
For  never  again  will  those  days  that  have  perished, 

Return  with  the  years  to  the  banks  of  Mohawk. 


BEAR  PERSIS,  I'VE  PRAYED  AND  PETITIONED. 
Dear  Persis,  I've  prayed  and  petitioned, 

But  nothing  from  thee  could  I  gain  ; 
The  more  I  have  begged  and  have  pleaded. 

The  more  I  have  pleaded  in  vain. 

*Whila  on  a  visit  to  Piqua,  Miami  county,  Ohio,  September,  1860, 1 
penned  the  above  lines. 


Then  grant  me,  0  loveliest  Persia, 

The  pitiful  boon  that  I  crave  ? 
If  not,  then  I  swear,  eoon  or  later, 

'Twill  keep  dragging  me  down  to  the  grave. 

I  know  you're  unconscious,  dear  Persia, 
The  love  that  I  bear  unto  thee ; 

You  feel  not  the  fire  that  is  burning— 
That's  burning,  consuming  in  me. 

And  wilt  thou  then  know  but  the  phyaie, 
The  only  good  remedy  sure — 

Know  then,  Oh  !  my  life  and  my  darling, 
In  you  lies  the  power  and  the  cure, 

It's  useless  to  argue  any  longer, 

I've  waited  so  long  upon  you, 
Till  patience  no  longer's  a  virtue — 

What  more  could  you  want  me  to  do  ? 
This  life's  but  a  long  rolling  river — 

A  ceaseless,  meandering  stream, 
And  if  you'll  accompany  me  down  it, 

You  can  live  like  a  Princess  or  Queen. 


WHERE  SCHUYLKILL  MEETS  THE  DELAWARE.* 
In  vain  I  roam  in  every  land, 
From  shore  to  shore,  from  strand  to  strand, 
In  vain  I  cross  the  foaming  brine 
To  search  each  realm,  survey  each  clime; 

*During  my  tour  through  the  Eastern  States,  in  1858,  I  «Upp«d  at 
Philadelphia.     Standing  in  close  proximity  to  vrher?  th?  jtboro-named 
meet,  I  composed  the  following  stanaas. 


My  tottering  steps  would  fain  retrace 
The  weary  miles  back  to  that  place. 
Back  to  that  place — none  can  compare- 
Where  Schuylkill  meets  the  Delaware. 

Delightful  spot!  can  I  forget 
The  bliss,  the  joy  that  th  ere  I've  met, 
When  early  love  begins  to  shoot, 
Within  the  heart  it  takes  its  root, 
So  deeply  set  naught  can  it  grub, 
Though  years  and  time  against  it  rub. 
So  for  that  spot  my  heart  does  tear, 
Where  Schuylkill  meets  the  Delaware. 

Oh  !  there,  with  Mary  by  my  side, 
I  rambled  by  the  rising  tide  ; 
Now  she  is  gone  and  I  am  here, 
Far  from  the  spot  I  love  so  dear. 
I  love  the  scenes,  for  round  my  heart 
Entwined  they  never  can  depart, 
And  thou  my  love,  sleep  on  my  fair, 
Where  Schuylkill  meets  the  Delaware. 


A  LOCK  OF  THY  HAIR,  TO  REMEMBER  THEE  BY. 

A  lock  of  thy  hair,  to  remember  thee  by ; 

Yes,  darling,  I  cannot  forget, 
When  far  among  strangers,  I'll  think,  with  a  sigh, 

Of  affectionate  friends  which  I've  met. 

And,  though  I  may  carry  this  token  with  me, 

Or  commit  it  away  to  the  flame, 
All  the  same  I'll  still  cherish  the  mem'ry  of  thee, 

And  hold  in  affection  thy  na,m«. 


34 

NEW  JERSEY,   THY  BORDERS  ARE  WILD  AND  RO 
MANTIC. 

Away,  ye  gay  landscapes,  ye  gardens  of  rose*, 

In  you  let  the  minions  of  luxury  rore  ; 
Restore  me  the  rocks  where  the  snow-flake  reposea, 

Though  still  they  are  sacred  to  freedom  and  love. 

BYROX. 

New  Jersey,  thy  borders  are  wild  and  romantic — 

With  what  high  excitement  I've  mounted  each  hill — 
The  roar  of  the  Ocean,  the  mighty  Atlantic, 

With  scenea  so  exciting  the  breast  cannot  fill. 
Full  oft  have  I  climbed  o'er  your  northern  mountains, 

With  gun  on  my  shoulder  and  dog  by  my  aide  ; 
And  oft,  when  athirst,  I  would  drink  from  the  fountain! 

Which  oozed  from  the  base  of  the  lofty  hill's  side. 

And  then  when  the  heat  of  the  noon-day  waa  falling, 

Compelled,  I  would  seek  for  the  shade  of  a  tree, 
'Till,  borne  on  the  breeze,  the  loud  vesper  bells  ringing, 

Again  to  the  hunt  I  would  hasten  in  glee. 
'Twas  then  over  hill,  over  rock,  bush  and  thistle, 

Till  night  threw  her  mantle  of  shadow  o'er  the  rills, 
I'd  dash  on  my  way  'til  I  heard  the  loud  whistle 

Of  the  shepherd  boy  calling  his  dog  o'er  the  hills. 

Then  down  from  the  mountains  I'd  swoop  like  the  vulture, 

With  Carlo  I'd  race  for  the  cabin  hard  by  ; 
I  envied  no  lord  with  his  learning  and  culture, 

Nor  luxurious  tables  inviting  him  nigh. 
For  peace  and  contentment — those  sweet  boons  of  pleasure — 

I  had  in  abundance  on  this  side  the  grave, 
And  the  pure  bubbling  water  was  mine  without  measure — 

What  more  could  I  ask,  or  what  more  could  I  crave  ? 


35 


THE  ORPHAN'S  LAMENT. 

A  lost  one,  I  sat  on  the  grave  of  my  mother, 
I  gobbed  and  I  sighed  as  I  sat  there  alone ; 

The  favors  of  fortune  one  tear  could  not  smother, 
For  I  felt,  as  I  sat  there,  no  place  to  call  home. 

Alas !  I  exclaimed,  in  the  depth  of  my  sorrow, 
The  beasts  of  the  field  have  a  place  of  their  own  : 

The  bird  has  a  nest  and  the  rabbit  a  burrow, 
But  I  have  no  place  I  can  call  as  a  home. 

But  long  since  thou  left  me,  my  own  dearest  mother, 
For  far  from  thy  grave  my  last  footsteps  did  roam  : 

Again  and  again  I  might  wander  it  over, 

But  never  I'll  find  but  one  place  to  call  home. 

Ah  !  here  on  thy  grave  as  I  sit  broken-hearted, 
With  no  one  to  cheer  me  nor  with  me  to  moan ; 

My  sisters  and  brothers  by  long  miles  are  parted. 
And  I  hare  no  place  I  can  call  as  my  home. 

But  111  not  regret  it,  thou  friend  of  my  childhood, 
I  will  not  regret  thou  hast  left  me  forlorn, 

Thia  life's  but  a  dreary  and  desolate  wildwood, 

And  why  should  I  mourn  on  this  earth  for  a  home. 

Then  sleep  on,  sweet  mother,  for  time  will  keep  rolling. 

And  soon  'twill  roll  o'er  me  and  mark  me  as  one ; 
But  when  the  grave  calls  me  the  thought  is  consoling, 

To  find  with  my  mother  in  heaven  a  sweet  home. 


MY  LOVE  TO  YOU  I  CANT  EXPRESS. 

My  love  to  you  I  can't  express, 
For  often  does  my  bosom  swell 

And  feels  for  who  ?     Ah  !  feels  for  thee, 
But  few  there  are  its  love  can  tell. 


How  often  do  I  sit  alone 

When  birds  have  ceased  their  songs  so  gay, 
And  evening's  shade  has  spread  around, 

To  think  of  thee  so  far  away. 

Though  solitary  as  I  sit, 

Methinks  thy  image  oft  I  see, 
O,  for  one  moment  with  thee  love, 

Since  I  can  love  none  now  but  thee. 


But  thee,  ah  1  well  I  might  say  thee, 
For  who  beside  thee  can  I  love ; 

My  heart  is  thine,  my  vows  are  made 
And  witnessed  by  that  power  above. 


I've  loved  thee  since  I  set  my  eyes 
Upon  that  goddess  form  of  thine, 

And  never  for  a  moment  thought 
You'd  be  another's  love,  but  mine. 

I  cannot  let  such  thoughts  obtain 
For  once  an  entrance  in  my  mind ; 

I'm  pledged  to  thee  and  thou  to  me 
By  all  the  ties  affection  bind. 


37 

VALE  OF  MONROE.* 
0,  dear,  lovely  rale !  how  I  swell  with  emotion, 

When  I  think  of  thy  streams,  -where  I  oft  loved  to  go  ! 
How  the  sun  would  arise,  with  his  beams  in  commotion — 

In  splendor  would  dance  in  the  vale  of  Monroe ! 

But  now  I  am  far  from  thee — still  thou  art  alluring, 
And  I  sigh  for  the  roses  that  bright  there  did  grow  ; 

But  oft,  as  I  call  you  to  mem'ry,  I'm  viewing 
Thy  glories  and  beauties,  dear  vale  of  Monroe ! 

Wherever  I  roam,  I  can  never  forget  thee — 
I  can  never  forget  thee  in  this  world  below ; 

Though  other  climes  spread  out  their  gay  scenes  around  me, 
I'll  remember  thee  ever,  sweet  vale  of  Monroe  ! 

Farewell,  lovely  valley  !  in  memory  still  living, 
I  may  roam  far  away  where  no  one  doth  know  ; 

Bnt  wherever  I  roam,  my  heart  will  keep  giving 
A  long  glance  and  sigh  for  the  vale  of  Monroe  I 


MY  DARLING,  INDEED  IT  IS  CERTAIN. 

My  darling,  indeed  it  is  certain, 

For  sure  the  truth  I  would  tell — 
A  viper  has  got  in  my  bosom, 

And  made  it  far  worse  than  a  hell. 
For  I  swear,  since  I  first  got  acquainted, 

Or  gazed  on  thy  beautiful  face, 
My  poor  bleeding  heart  it  has  fastened, 

And  held  in  its  dreadful  embrace. 

*Written  in  memory  of  Monroe  county,  N.  Y.,  where  I  spent  my  early 
d*7B  j  composed  while  residing  by  the  Ohio  River. 


38 


And  thou  art  the  one  who  has  stolen, 

And  robbed  me  of  peace  and  of  rest; 
Ever  since  I  have  gazed  on  thy  features, 

The  serpent's  abode  in  my  breast. 
And  I  vow,  till  it  does  get  unfastened, 

No  pleasure  for  me  can  remain  ; 
Ev'ry  time  that  I  try  to  dislodge  it, 

It  gives  me  additional  pain. 

'Tis  vain  to  attempt  now  a  rescue — 

Fm  certain  my  last  hour  is  come  ; 
Bat  short  is  the  time  I  must  tarry, 

And  thou  art  the  cause,  cruel  one. 
Why  gaze  on  me,  love,  so  cold-hearted? 

3Tis  you  know  the  remedy  sure  ; 
Why  gaze  on  my  misery  smiling? 

Alas !  I  must  die  without  cure. 


A  LONE  WANDERER,  I  SAT  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  OHIO. 
A  lone  wand'rer,  I  sat  on  the  banks  of  Ohio ; 

The  sun  was  fast  sinking  his  rays  in  the  west ; 
I  gazed  on  the  swift,  gliding  flight  of  the  swallow, 

As  gently  and  smoothly  it  skimmed  o'er  her  breast. 

And  there,  as  I  sat  by  that  "  beautiful  river," 
How  much,  I  exclaimed,  from  thee  I  can  learn ! 

Thy  streams  emblematic  of  day  that  shall  never — 

Yes  ;  weeks,  months,  and  years,  that  shall  never  return. 

While  thus  lonely  musing,  my  memory  wandering 
To  scenes  of  my  youth,  and  my  past  boyhood  days. 

And  lost  in  deep  thought,  o'er  my  infancy  pondering, 
Upon  the  clear  waters  beneath  me  I  gazed. 


39 


But  while  thus  reflecting,  I  thought  of  my  Nancy ; 

I  thought  of  my  Nancy  by  Erie's  fair  shore ; 
The  cot  and  the  garden  arose  in  my  fancy — 

I  thought  I  beheld  my  dear  IQVC  for  once  more. 

O,  hard,  cruel  fortune  !  why  art  thou  so  trifling 

With  the  feelings  of  one  who  is  doomed  to  despair? 

The  dreadful  reality  often  keeps  stifling 

In  my  bosom  the  soft,  soothing  dreams  that  wake  there. 

O,  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove  or  an  eagle, 

How  soon  I  would  spread  them,  nor  even  delay, 

Till  I  would  alight  'fore  a  door  that's  congenial, 
To  soothe  the  sad  cares  of  a  wand'rer  away. 


THE  LAPLANDER  LOVES  HIS  COLD,  ICY  RETREAT. 

The  Laplander  loves  his  cold,  icy  retreat, 

The  Esquimaux  hie  chilly  plain  ; 
Then  why  should  I  not  love  each  valley  so  sweet — 

Each  snow-covered  mountain  of  Maine? 

I  ask  not  the  pleasures  which  dwell  in  the  South, 

That  poets  have  fabled  of  yore  ; 
Away  with  their  flowers,  which  my  heart  sick'ning  loath*, 

But  give  me  my  cold  home  before. 

No  pleasure  for  me  have  their  hot,  burning  skies. 

Nor  flowers  that  in  blooming  will  last ; 
Their  warm,  sultry  breezes  my  soul  does  despise. 

And  mourns  for  old  Winter's  cold  blast.  * 


It  sighs  for  the  mountains  that  towering  rise, 
Abeve  the  wide  plain  or  the  valleys  of  snow, 

And  nothing  in  life  does  the  soul  dearer  prize, 
Than  infancy's  haunts,  where  it  once  loved  to  go. 

And  though  we  may  climb  to  the  temple  of  fame, 
And  wear  honor's  wreath  on  our  brow, 

We'll  bear  in  affection  the  dear  cottage  name, 
"Where  we  plighted  our  first  solemn  row. 


FLOW  ON,  LOVELY  HUDSON  !* 

TtJKK — "Sweet  Vale  of  Avoca." 

Flow  on,  lovely  Hudson — thou  lovely  stream,  flow ! 
Encompassed  by  banks  that  look  verdant  below ; 
Let  poets  of  Thames  and  of  Seinef  sing  their  lay, 
Bnt  I  know  thou'rt  arrayed  far  fairer  than  they. 

Then  flow  in  thy  beauty,  sweet  river — flow  on ! 
Whom  Nature  her  charms  has  so  lavished  upon ; 
And  they  who  beside  thee  might  happen  to  stray, 
Bewitched  by  thy  beauties,  unwilling  must  stay. 

O,  had  I  a  home  by  thy  border  so  fair, 

In  pleasure  and  peace  I'd  contented  dwell  there ; 

How  calm  flow  thy  waters,  O,  river  so  bright! 

Thy  enameled  green  banks  are  the  stranger's  delight. 

*Whfle  on  a  pleasure  trip  down  the  Hudson,  in  1858,  I  composed  the 
above  lines, 
f  The  well  known  riven  of  England  and  France. 


41 

How  majestic  the  mountains  that  border  thy  waves! 
The  towering  Highlands,*  whose  dark  summit  bravei 
The  mad,  angry  tempest— the  wild  whirlwind's  shock; 
Those  dark,  lofty  battlements  their  wrath  only  mock. 

To  leave  thy  clear  waters  it  saddens  my  heart, 
Where  Phoebus  himself  lingering,  is  loth  to  depart; 
But  time  tarries  not — I  must  bid  you  adieu — 
Farewell,  Hudson,  then,  and  thy  waves  rolling  blue! 


AND  WILL  YOU  ROVE  WITH  ME,  SWEET  MAID? 

TCXE— "  Hiyhlaud  Mary." 

And  will  you  rove  with  me,  sweet  maid, 

Down  by  yon  silvery  water? 
And  there  beneath  the  beechen  shade, 

Till  gathering  night  we'll  loiter ; 
Till  night  will  spread  her  mantled  pall, 

Along  the  shore  we'll  tarry, 
And  if  you'll  vow  to  be  my  all, 

I'll  be  your  constant  Harry. 

I'll  be  your  own,  come  weal  or  woe, 

If  you'll  be  mine  forever : 
And  let  what  will  may  come  or  go, 

We'll  pledge  our  vows  together. 
Then  will  you  rove  with  me,  sweet  maid, 

Down  by  yon  silvery  water  ? 
And  there  beneath  the  beechen  shade. 

Till  gathering  night  we'll  loiter. 

*Thes«  mountains  are  much  noted  for  their  picturesque  scenery,,  and 
wild  grandeur. 


42 

HOIST  THAT  PROUD  FLAGk 

Hoist  that  proud  flag,  'tis  the  flag  of  the  free ; 
Hoist  that  proud  flag,  ;tis  the  banner  for  me. 
Awake,  all  ye  sons  of  Columbia  ;  arise, 
Hoist  that  proud  flag— let  it  float  in  the  skies. 

Behold  it,  as  proudly  it  floats  in  the  air ; 
O  who  dare  attempt  for  to  draw  it  from  there? 
Or  where  is  the  one  who  so  vile  as  would  durst 
Tear  down  that  proud  banner  to  tramp  in  the  dust? 

Was't  not  'neath  its  folds  where  each  victory  was  won, 
Achieved  by  that  hero,  our  own  Washington  ? 
Let  it  wave  so  when  minions  shall  threaten  alarm  : 
Hoist,  hoist  that  proud  flag,  it  will  shield  it  from  harm. 

Around  it  will  rally  the  true  and  the  brave, 
Beneath  it  to  conquer  or  find  there  a  grave ; 
Our  right  arm  is  pledged  to  protect  its  bright  folds 
On  the  land,  or  the  sea,  where  the  wide  ocean  rolls. 


0  FAR,  FAR  AWAY,  BY  POTOMAC'S  CALM  BREAST. 

TUNE—"  To  the  West." 
0  far,  far  away,  by  Potomac's  calm  breast, 
By  its  smooth-gliding  waters  my  Fanny  finds  rest ; 
Dire  troubles  and  dangers  no  more  her  assail, 
Undisturbed  she  reclines  in  that  calm,  peaceful  vale. 

How  fair  is  the  spot  where  she  silently  sleeps, 

Where  willows  around  her  unceasingly  weep  ; 

There,  winding  unseen,  the  Potomac  extends 

Her  clear,  glancing  watira  where  the  swamp  willow  blends. 


43 

You  may  roam  through  this  world — you  may  roam  every 
where — 

But  no  place  can  you  tind  that's  more  charmingly  fair ; 
There  spring's  clothed  in  verdure,  the  flowers  ne'er  decay — 
When  this  sad  life  is  vanished,  0  there  let  me  lay. 

0  there  let  me  lay,  where  its  clear  waters  lave 
Tke  green  flowery  banks,  where  tall  lindens  wave; 
Where  the  jessamine  noda  to  the  murmuring  breeze, 
As  it  whispers  her  requium  through  the  green  leaves. 


THAT  IS  THE  FLAG. 
TUNE—"  Shed  not  a  Tear." 
Is  yon  waving  banner  the  flag  that  we  own  ? 

That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag, 
Which  through  the  red  field  was  victoriouely  borne  ? 
That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag. 

Was't  not  'neath  its  folds  where  our  forefathers  died — 
Where  death  was  to  them  but  the  highest  of  pride- 
Where,  smiling,  they  nobly  expired  by  its  side  ? 
That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag. 

Has  it  not  waved  out  upon  every  breeze  ? 

That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag  ; 
And  floated  in  triumph  all  over  the  seas  ? 

That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag. 

Is  it  not  the  hope  of  the  bond  and  the  slave-— 
The  ensign  that  headed  the  gallant  and  brave 
While  wading  through  blood,  that  their  country  might  save  ? 
That  is  the  flag,  that  is.  the  flag. 


44 

Has  it  not  flashed  out  over  Bunker'a  red  hill  ? 

That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag  ; 
Where  first  our  country's  blood  did  spill  ? 

That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag. 

Then  will't  not  in  beauty  and  glory  still  fly, 
Unmolested  and  free  in  our  own  sunny  sky, 
Above  those  brave  martyrs  who  for  it  did  die  ? 
That  is  the  flag,  that  is  the  flag. 


SING  LOW,  SWEET  BIRD,  BESIDE  THAT  STREAM. 

Sing  low,  sweet  bird,  beside  that  stream, 

For  on  its  banks  doth  Nancy  dream ; 

Beneath  yon  willow  tree  that  weeps 

And  droops  in  sorrow,  Nancy  sleeps. 

Ye  flowers  and  roses,  bloom  more  fair, 

Your  queen  and  fairest  gem  lies  there  ; 

Spread  wide  your  leaves,  and  bathe  her  tomb 

With  fragrant  spices  and  perfume. 

Assume  thy  beauty,  lily  fair, 

And  bow  thy  head  in  sorrow  there  ; 

For  neath  that  grassy  turf  lies  low 

The  fairest  flower  that  e'er  did  grow. 

And  thou  bright,  warbling  streams  that  flo  w§. 

Take  heed,  for  on  thy  banks  repose 

A  tender  flower  I  once  possessed — 

Fd  have  you  not  disturb  her  rest. 

But  you,  mild,  gentle  evening  breeze, 
I  still  would  have  you  through  the  trees 
To  sigh  her  requium,  till  the  clos« 
Of  dewy  ev'ning  folds  the  rose. 


45 


Sing  low,  aweet  bird,  beside  that  stream, 
For  on  its  banks  does  Nancy  dream  ; 
Beneath  yon  willow  tree  that  weeps 
And  droops  in  sorrow,  Xancy  sleeps. 


FAREWELL,  DEAR  ANGELINE,  FAREWELL. 

TUNE—"  Come,  take  a  Sail." 
Farewell,  dear  Angeline,  farewell : 

Perhaps  no  more  I'll  see 
Thy  diamond  eyes,  thy  pearl-like  neck. 

Thy  form,  that's  dear  to  me. 
But  yet  good  fortune  may  be  kind. 

And  bring  me  back  again, 
Once  more  to  gaze  upon  thy  face. 

Thy  arms  once  more  regain. 

Then  let  me  kiss  thee  for  the  last, 

The  time  is  drawing  nigh  ; 
And  let  me  take  the  last  embrace 

Before  from  thee  I  fly. 
I  soon  will  be  in  distant  climeg — 

0  how  it  rends  my  heart — 
And,  though  I  seldom  wept  before, 

The  tears  begin  to  start. 

But,  though  I  leave  you,  oft  I'll  view 

Thy  features  in  my  dreams  ; 
And,  turning  oft,  I'll  think  of  thee, 

And  of  those  parting  scenes. 
Farewell  then,  Angeline,  farewell; 

Perhaps  again  I'll  see 
Thy  diamond  eyes,  thy  pearl-like  neck, 

Thy  form  that's  dear  to  me. 


46 

MY  MARY'S  GONE     MY  MARY'S  GONE  ! 

TUNE—"  Shells  of  Ocean." 
My  Mary's  gone  !  my  Mary's  gone  ! 

She  sleeps  beneath  the  linden  tree  ; 
No  more  I  hear  her  lute-like  tones 

At  ev'ning's  hour  to  welcome  me. 
Forever's  hushed  that  mellow  voice, 

That  voice  I  never  more  shall  hear ; 
No  more,  returning  home  from  toil, 

'Twill  greet  me  with  its  welcome  cheer. 

Sad  is  my  soul  since  we  did  part — 

Grim  Death,  thou  hast  no  terror  now  ; 
I  ask  not  life,  then  cut  me  down  ; 

I'm  but  a  barren,  withering  bough. 
The  rose  that  strewed  my  path  of  life, 

And  soothed  me  on  the  bed  of  pain, 
At  last  has  vanished  from  my  view, 

And  nothing  but  the  thorns  remain. 

0  Mary,  dear  !  0  Mary,  dear  ! 

I  never  more  shall  see  again  ; 
Does  she  but  know  what  I  endure — • 

The  racks  of  agony  and  pain  ? 
But  no ;  she  feels  not  what  I  feel, 

Nor  felt  the  thorn  that  pierced  my  side 
When,  leaning  on  my  trembling  arms, 

She  lowly  bade  farewell — and  died. 

But  why  mourn  her,  then,  'cause,  forsooth, 
She's  safely  crossed  this  "  vale  of  tears," 

And,  in  that  brighter  land  above, 
Dwells  free  from  further  cares  and  fears. 


4T 

Then  I'll  no  longer  mourn  for  her, 
But,  oh,  life  has  a  burden  grown  ; 

I  cannot  stay — I  will  not  stay — 
To  linger  out  this  life  alone. 


BATTLE  SONG. 

FOR    THE    UXIOX    VOLUNTEERS. 

O,  we're  the  brave  boys  who  are  used  to  alarms, 
When  our  country's  in  danger  we'll  stand  to  our  arina, 
For  traitors  and  rebels  can  never  defile 
Our  star-spangled  banner,  our  blood-purchased  soil. 
CHORUS— Then  hurrah  !  then  hurrah  !  to  the  battle  we'll  gd. 
We  either  must  perish  or  conquer  the  foe. 

The  New  Englanders  pour  from  their  wild,  craggy  rocks. 
With  their  trustworthy  barrels  and  rusty  old  locks ; 
They  are  the  brave  gallants  who  never  did  yield 
To  a  foe  or  a  tyrant,  on  any  red  field. 

CHORUS — Then  hurrah  !  &c. 

Pennsylvania  she  rallies  her  sons  for  the  fight — 
By  the  thousands  they  come  from  the  left  and  the  right, 
While  New  York  gathers  out,  from  each  hamlet  and  glen, 
Her  dashing  young  lads  and  her  well  chosen  men. 

CHORUS — Then  hurrah  !  &c. 

Indiana  pours  forth  her  brave  sons  at  the  call, 
To  fight  for  our  country  or  for  her  to  fall ; 
Kentucky,  the  land  and  the  birth-place  of  Clay, 
Is  gathering  th«  flower  of  her  youth  for  the  fray. 

CHORUS — Then  hurrah  !  &«. 


48 

Illinois'  ready  sons  are  forsaking  awhile 

Their  wide-spreading  prairies  and  bountiful  soil, 

While  Michigan,  restless  the  Union  to  save, 

Is  gathering  by  thousands  her  gallant  and  brave. 

CHORUS — Then  hurrah  !  Ac. 

Young  Wisconsin  and  Iowa  hears  the  war  sound, 
With  young  Minnesota  on  the  red  battle  ground : 
They  mutter  their  thousands,  to  shelter  from  harm 
Our  Union  and  banner,  with  old  Uncle  Sam. 

CHORUS — Then  hurrah  1  &c. 

The  brave  Buckeye  lads  all  so  willing  they  come, 
With  bayonets  bright  gleaming,  and  swords  buckled  on ; 
From  the  North,  East  and  West  see  the  multitudes  crowd, 
With  the  stars  and  the  stripes  o'er  their  heads  waving  proud. 
CHORUS — Then  hurrah  !  &c. 


THE    AMERICAN'S     FAREWELL    TO    HIS     NATIVE 
COUNTRY  ON  GOING  TO  VISIT  EUROPE. 

Farewell,  land  of  Washington,  Webster  and  Clay  ; 
Farewell,  land  of  freedom,  I  cannot  delay  ; 
I  must  meet  the  wide  ocean  whose  billows  I  fear 
Will  bear  me  away  from  the  land  I  love  dear. 

Adieu!  then  Ohio,  whose  calm  waters  bright 

To  some  more  mighty  stream  take  their  far  winding  flight; 

And  thou,  placid  Hudson,  I  soon  will  despair 

For  thy  green  charming  banks  so  lovely  and  fair. 

No  more  shall  I  roam  where  my  forefather's  strayed, 
Aud  gaze  on  the  scenes  where  I  oft  have  delayed; 
My  bark  dances  on,  and  I  hear  the  loud  roar 
Of  the  breakers  that  dash  on  my  own  native  shore. 


49 

Then  again  is  the  sad  tear  quick  forced  from  my  eyes, 
As  my  bark  o'er  the  waves  like  a  swift  arrow  flies, 
While  the  last  sinking  glimpse  of  my  fair  shores  I  catch, 
All  the  dear  parting  scenes  to  remembrance  now  fetch. 


CAN  I  FORGET  THE  LAND  WHERE  I? 
Can  I  forget  the  land  where  I 

Was  reared,  amid  the  lofty  hills, 
And  made  the  wily  deer  to  fly, 

Which  sought  the  cool  and  gurgling  rills  ? 
Can  I,  in  France's  sunny  vales, 

Or  on  the  balmy  mounts  of  Spain, 
Forget  Ohio's  balmy  gales, 

That  often  fanned  my  burning  brain  ? 

O,  no ;  though  I  should  ever  stray, 

And  never  find  a  place  of  rest, 
I'll  ne'er  forget,  though  far  away, 

The  scenes  with  which  I  once  was  blest. 
When  wandering  o'er  my  native  hills, 

Or  sitting  in  the  cooling  shade, 
Or  musing  by  the  babbling  rills, 

Meand'ring  through  my  native  glade. 

Not  that  I  dream  of  rinding  e'er 

Another  place  to  dote  upon, 
For  such  fair  scenes,  I  well  may  fear, 

Upon  has  never  shone  the  sun. 
Perhaps  these  tame  domestic  charms 

Possess  the  heart  of  some  born  child ; 
But  0:,  give  me  Ohio's  farms, 

Its  rip'ning  grain,  her  forests  wild. 
3 


50 

LAND  OF  LIBERTY. 

Prepare  the  ship, 

The  waves  we'll  rip, 
To  the  land  of  Liberty ; 

And  onward  bound, 

Till  my  home  is  found., 
In  the  land  of  Liberty. 

On  !  on  to  my  home; 

The  waves  yet  foam, 
To  the  land  of  Liberty. 

O,  yet  move  on, 

Ever  and  anon, 
To  the  land  of  Liberty. 

O,  take  me  there, 

Where  damsels  fair, 
Roam  the  land  of  Liberty. 

There  place  my  grave, 

Where  lives  the  bravo, 
ID  the  land  of  Liberty. 

And  when  I  meet 

My  land  so  sweet, 
O,  the  land  of  Liberty ; 

And  if  I'll  part, 

'Twill  break  my  heart, 
"From  the  land  of  Libertr. 


CALIFOKNIA'S  SHORE. 
Away,  away,  my  gallant  bark, 

Fear  not  the  angry  weather; 
Spread  all  thy  sail  to  catch  theVind, 

The  clouds  begin  to  gather. 


51 

Afar  astern  the  breakers  dash— 

I  hear  their  distant  roar ; 
Then  speed  thee  on,  my  gallant  bark, 

To  California's  shore. 

Then  on,  sail  on,  my  noble  craft, 

There's  none  can  sail  more  prouder; 
I  know  thou'st  braved  the  winds  before, 

When  storms  were  thrice  more  louder. 
Then  flinch  not  now  to  meet  the  gale 

Which  thou  hast  met  before, 
But  bear  me  on,  through  storm  or  shine, 

To  California  '  shore. 

Still  louder  does  the  storm-fiend  shriek, 

Still  higher  waves  are  bounding, 
As  from  the  starboard  side  I  hear 

The  dashing  waves  resounding. 
Then  welcome  to  old  Ocean's  shock, 

We'll  fear  her  wrath  no  more, 
But  bravely  ride,  through  thick  and  thin, 

To  California's  shore. 


O,  EMMA,  THY  BROW  IS  LIKE  MARBLE. 

0,  Emma,  thy  brow  is  like  marble, 

Thy  cheeks  like  the  lily  so  pale ; 
The  birds  of  the  forest  that  warble, 

And  sing  in  thy  own  native  vale, 
Their  voice  it  is  not  near  so  charming, 

Nor  half  of  the  power  to  console, 
But  thine's  like  a  fire  that  is  warming, 

And  cheering  the  sorrowing  soul. 


52 


When  grief  eeems  to  haunt  and  to  chase  me, 

And  on  me  does  heavily  lay, 
When  charms  of  thy  voice  does  possess  me, 

It  drives  the  foul  demon  away. 
0,  had  I  the  fortune  to  own  thee, 

Or  say  that  my  all  it  is  thine, 
There's  nothing  could  make  me  disown  thee, 

More  dear  than  Potosi's  rich  mine. 

For  whole  loads  of  Mexican  treasure 

I'd  give,  or  tramp  under  my  feet, 
If  I  had  but  that  moment  of  pleasure 

Of  printing  a  kiss  on  thy  cheek. 
In  vain  I  might  search  this  world  over, 

For  virtue  more  purer  than  thine — 
That,  I'm  sure,  I  could  never  discover ; 

0,  if  I  could  call  thee  but  mine. 


THE   EMIGRANT'S   FAREWELL,    ON    LEAVING   OLD 
ENGLAND. 

Come,  now,  my  boys,  we'll  sing  a  song, 

As  long's  old  England's  seen, 
And  when  she  sinks  behind  the  wave, 

Our  songs  shall  still  be  green. 
Our  songs  shall  still  be  green,  my  boys, 

Our  ship  with  waves  must  play, 
We'll  leave  old  England  fading 

Behind  the  drifting  spray. 
Behind  the  drifting  spray,  my  boys, 

Our  ship  must  strike  the  foam, 
We'll  sail  across  the  bounding  wave, 

Far  from  our  native  home. 


53 


Come,  now,  my  gallant  boys,  bear  down 

Unto  the  land  of  the  free— 
Unto  the  wide,  extended  plains 

Of  broad  America. 

Of  broad  America,  my  boys — 

And  0,  my  gallant  tars, 
'Tis  the  land  of  Washington  the  wise, 

The  floating  stripes  and  stars. 


THROUGH  THE  WAVING  FIELDS  OF  GREEN. 

TUNE — "Faintly  Flow,  thou  Falling  River." 
Have  we  not  roved  together,  Sallie — 

Watched  the  twilight's  closing  scene, 
On  the  hill  and  in  the  valley, 

Through  the  waving  fields  of  green  ? 

On  the  hill  have  we  not  pondered, 

By  the  mill  and  deep  ravine — 
Or,  as  chance  would  have  it,  wandered 

Through  the  waving  fields  of  green  ? 

Hours  have  we  not  sat  together, 

When  the  evening's  golden  sheen 
Fell  upon  the  halcyon  river, 

And  on  waving  fields  of  green  ? 


0,  FROWN  NOT  ON  ME  NOW,  LOVE. 
O,  frown  not  on  me  now,  love, 

0,  frown  not  on  me  now, 
For  gaze  on  death  I'd  rather, 

Than  passion  on  thy  brow. 


54 

What  is  it  does  displease  thee  ? 

It  cannot,  love,  be  me ; 
Recall  that  frown — that  frown,  love, 

I  cannot  brook  to  see. 

I've  waited  for  thy  coming, 

And  longed  for  thy  embrace, 
But  cannot  bear  to  see  thee 

With  wrath  upon  thy  face. 
Then  chase  away  the  cloud  that 

Thy  features  hover  round, 
And  loose  the  smiles  of  gladness 

That  in  thy  heart  abound. 

I  never  saw  thee  look  so — 

What  can  the  matter  be  ? 
Are  evils  dire  pursuing, 

Or  fortune  fled  from  thee  ? 
If  so,  to  do  their  utmost 

Bid  them,  and  breast  the  storm ; 
Perhaps  the  clouds  but  cover 

Heaits  sympathizing  warm. 

Then  cheer  up — sink  not,  frown  not, 

Misfortune  bi  avely  stand  ; 
Help  first  yourself,  and  Heaven 

Will  lend  a  helping  hand. 
Remember  he  who  strives  well. 

To  stem  life's  angry  tide, 
For  his  reward  must  tarry, 

Or  until  death  abide. 


56 


0,  LET  ME  TO  THE  WOODLAND  FLEE. 

0,  let  me  to  the  woodland  flee, 

Far  from  the  busy  throng, 
I  love  to  see  the  tow'ring  tree, 

And  hear  the  robin's  song; 
I  love  to  see  the  lambs  at  play, 

Or  skipping  o'er  the  green. 
And  watch  the  op'ning  flower  of  day, 

And  twilight's  gorgeous  scene. 
I  love  to  wander  o'er  the  hills, 

Inhale  the  stainless  air, 
Imbibe  from  pure  and  gurgling  rilta., 

Meandering  coolly  there : 
I  love  to  watch  the  setting  sun, 

As  slowly  in  the  west. 
Whene'er  his  daily  course  is  run, 

Sink  to  his  nightly  rest. 

I  love  to  gather  the  wild  flowers 

That  unbidden  bloom  alone, 
And  listen,  through  the  evening  hours, 

To  the  wild  dove's  melancholy  tone^ 
1  love  to  watch  the  lowing  herds. 

While  seated  in  the  verdant  lawn.. 
And  listen  to  the  vocal  birds, 

Sing  tireless  through  the  orient  morn. 


YE    DEPARTED,    WHO    PERISHED    AND    DIED    FOR 

YOUR  COUNTRY. 
Ye  departed,  who  perished  and  died  for  your  country, 

May  Columbia  honor  your  graves  with  her  tean; 
It  U  not  your  heroic  deeds  that  ahe  honors, 

But  the  cause  and  the  reason  you  died  ihe  reveres. 


56 

O,  for  the  spirit  which  nerved  you  in  battle, 
Te  inspire  your  descendants  with  motives  the  same, 

Who  willingly  laid  down  your  lives  for  your  country, 
Nor  fought  ye  for  honor,  nor  died  ye  for  fame. 

And  gone  though  you  be,  may  your  mem'ry  undying, 
Remain  still  beloved  in  the  hearts  of  your  sons, 

Your  heroic  deeds  be  remembered  forever, 
As  lasting  as  liberty  tyranny  shuns. 

May  the  fields  where  they  fought,  where  their  life-blood  wai 
given, 

Be  indelibly  graven  on  History's  scroll, 
Their  patriot  cause  stand  a  monument  lasting, 

Through  the  cycle  of  ages  in  future  to  roll. 


WAR  SONG-. 

Awake,  all  ye  eons  of  proud  freemen,  awaken  I 
Americans,  rise  !  for  the  Union  is  shaken, 
And  over  your  heads  the  fair  peace-clouds  are  breaking ; 
Come  forth  !  'tis  your  country  that  calls. 

Come  forth  !  hear  you  not  your  dead  forefathers  crying 
From  out  of  the  bloody  graves  where  they  are  lying? 
Arise !  'neath  the  stars  and  the  stripes  that  are  flying, 
.-We'll  swear  that  this  Union  remains. 

Come  forth !  all  ye  children  of  heroes  departed, 
And  you,  ye  descendants  of  patriots  martyred, 
Behold  their  dear  purchase  by  ruffians  bartered 
And  sold,  with  their  blood  spilt  in  Tain, 


57 

Come  forth !  cries  the  chieftains  who  led  you  to  battle, 
And  stand  undismayed  by  the  cannons'  loud  rattle ; 
Strike  down  the  foul  traitors  who  would  lightly  prattle 
Of  severing  this  Union  cemented  by  blood. 

Eise,  sons  of  Columbia— arise  in  your  glory ! 
Let  your  children's  children  circle  the  story, 
How  fathers,  with  pride,  and  their  grand-fathers  hoary, 

Delighted  to  die  for  their  country's  good. 
Unsheath,  then,  the  sword ;  shout  your  watch-cry,  that  never, 
While  true  freemen  live,  will  this  Union  dissever, 
"  But  one  and  insep'rable,  now  and  forever," 

She'll  stand  on  the  records  of  Time. 


MEET  ME  BY  THE  SILVERY  TIDE. 
To-night,  when  Luna's  mounting  high, 
When  fewer  clouds  obscure  the  sky, 
When  she  shines  forth  in  all  her  pride, 
Meet  me  by  the  silvery  tide. 

Meet  me  in  the  silent  hour, 
Meet  me  in  the  lonely  bower, 
Meet  me  where  the  waters  glide, 
Meet  me  by  the  silvery  tide. 

When  all  nature  sinks  to  rest, 
When  happy  dreams  and  vision*  blest 
Appear  but  shortly  to  abide, 
Meet  me  by  the  silvery  tide. 
Where  no  ear  can  hear  our  vowa,  » 

Where  no  one  may  know  our  lovea, 
Where  we  can  wander  side  by  side, 
Meet  me  by  the  silvery  tide. 


58 


There,  beeide  the  sandy  shore, 
We'll  whisper,  love,  as  oft  before, 
Nor  mark  how  fast  the  time  may  slide ; 
Meet  me  by  the  silvery  tide. 
Then  to  you  I  will  reveal, 
What  yet  no  man  did  ever  feel ; 
If  so,  the  stars  refuse  to  hide, 
Meet  me  by  the  silvery  tide. 


COME,  JANE,  THE  FLOWERS  ARE  BLOOMING. 
TUNE — "The  Summer  Days  are  Coming," 
Come,  Jane,  the  flowers  are  blooming, 

The  bespangled  heath's  in  green. 
The  lawn  is  just  assuming 

The  loveliest  colors  seen. 
The  florid  morn  is  breaking, 

The  sun  will  soon  arise, 
The  lark  is  just  awak'ning, 

And  hastening  to  the  skies. 
The  thrush,  perched  on  the  bramble, 

Is  pouring  forth  her  lay, 
Dear  Jane,  come,  let  us  ramble, 

Conversing  by  the  way. 
I'll  whisper  of  the  pleasure 

Enjoyed  in  days  gone  by, 
And  strolling  at  our  leisure, 

Thy  charms  I'll  deify. 

I'll  praise  thy  auburn  tressea, 

So  graceful  and  divine, 
Thy  blue  eyes,  which  distresseu 

This  love-sick  heart  of  mine. 


Then  come,  the  flowera  are  blooming, 
The  bespangled  heath's  in  green, 

The  lawn  is  just  assuming 
The  loveliest  colors  seen. 


ALONG  FAIR  HUDSON'S  VERDANT  BANKS. 
Along  enameled  Hudson's  verdant  banks 

I  strayed,  at  evening's  closing  hour, 
Fair  Nature  smiled  in  every  scene, 

And  songsters  sung  in  every  bower. 

Delighted  with  the  gliding  stream, 
That  rolled  in  silent  grandeur  on, 

While  gazing  on  the  silv'ry  tide, 
Fd  listen  to  the  robin's  song. 

But,  Chough  the  prospect  smiled  so  fair, 
Enough  to  cheer  the  saddest  heart. 

Fd  often  pause  to  think  of  one, 
And  oft'ner  bid  my  grief  depart. 

For  there  is  one,  though  only  one, 
That  I  might  give  this  world  to  see — 

She  dwells  by  Mississippi's  stream, 
So  many  cruel  leagues  from  ma. 

Ah,  me !  but  could  I  view  her  face, 

Her  rosy  cheek,  her  smiling  eye. 
While  folded  in  her  loving  arms, 

I  there  might  wish  myself  to  di». 


60 


erhaps  tlie  hour  may  yet  arrive, 
When  I  may  view  her  form  once  more, 
And  dry  the  wasting  grief  that's  preyed 
So  oft  upon  my  bosom's  core. 

Then  roll  on,  time,  there's  few  can  tell 
What  fortune  thou  hast  for  them  hid ; 

I  doubt  not  but  thou  hast  for  me 
Untold  of  joys  behind  thy  lid. 


YE  GALLANT  FEW,  WHO  FOUGHT  AND  BLED. 
Ye  gallant  few,  who  fought  and  bled 

To  free  your  country  in  distress, 
Long  may  the  world,  with  drooping  head, 

Though  hung  in  grief,  your  mem'ry  bless. 
Long  may  your  sons,  with  ardent  souls, 

Inspired  by  your  heroic  deeds, 
Protect  the  flag  beneath  whose  folds 

The  hero-freeman  fights  and  bleeds. 

Long  may  their  breasts  be  willing  found, 

A  shield  to  guard  their  country's  rights, 
When  danger  calls  to  forward  bound, 

Protect  her  from  oppression's  blights. 
Then  will  their  children's  children  bow, 

Through  generations  yet  to  be, 
In  meek  and  holy  reverence  low, 

In  honor  of  the  noble  free. 

They'll  bless  you  for  the  boon  you  gave, — 

That  sacred  boon  of  Liberty, 
Which  raised  them  from  a  servile  slave, 

To  glory  in  the  nanve  of  free. 


61 

They'll  bless  you  for  the  l«*son  taught, 
To  rather  die  than  live  in  chains, 

That  to  the  tyrant's  will  there's  naught 
But  cursed  slavery  remains. 

•".A,    - 

ALL  OF  THE  FKIEXDS  ATTACHED  TO  ME. 

All  of  the  friends  attached  to  me, 

They  all  have  flown, 
Save  only  one ;  that  one  is  thee, 

And  thee  alone. 
Alas !  that  such  inconstancy 

Should  be  our  lot ; 
How  soon,  when  riches  from  us  flee, 

We  are  forgot. 


IF  YOU  LOVE  ME  AS  I  LOVE  THEE. 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  thee — 

Then  what? 

The  nuptial  state  would  be  our  fate, 
Our  lot. 

'Spose  I  should  say  thy  hope's  no  ray 
From  thee  ? 

And  further  own  you  love  alone — 
Ah  !  me. 

'Spoee  I  declare  thy  love  I  share — 

Hist!  hear! 

My  heart  does  burn  with  love  in  turn, 
My  dear! 


I'm  glad,  my  dear — rejoiced 

Thou'rt  mine. 

Then  I'll  admit  my  heart  is  knit 
To  thine. 

And  now,  dear  Kate,  we  know,  though  late. 
Each  mind. 

Come,  'fore  we  part  each  hand  and  heart 
We'll  bind. 


THE 

AMERICAN   MELODIES 


II. 


COMPOSED  AT  SKA,  COMPRISING  SUCH  MELODIES  A§ 

COMPOSED  DURING  MT  TERM  OF  SERVICE  IN  THE 

ITNITID  BTATEg  NAVT,  IN  THE  YEARS 

1862  AND  1863. 


"  A  life  on  the  ocean  ware, 

A  horn*  on  the  rolling  deep, 
Where  the  scattered  waters  rare, 

And  the  winds  their  revels  keep. 

"  Like  an  ocean  bird  I  pine 

On  this  dull,  unchanging  shore  ; 

0  gire  me  the  flashing  brine, 
And  mad  old  Ocean's  roar." 

— AKOXTMOVI. 


I  PACED  UPON  THE  QUARTER-DECK. 

I  paced  upon  the  quarter-deck, 

And  gazed  far  out  upon  the  sea, 
I  warned  the  pilot  at  the  wheel, 

Of  every  beacon  light  I'd  see. 
Cold  was  the  night,  the  wind  did  blow, 

The  waves  dashed  o'er  the  larboard  aide, 
Atlantic's  billows,  crowned  with  foam, 

In  fury  with  old  Boreas  vied. 

But,  worn  with  watching  long  and  late, 

I  heeded  not  the  angry  storm. 
As  every  swell  dashed  o'er  the  ship, 

It  chilled  anew  my  shivering  form  : 
Although  the  Storm  King  reigned  that  night. 

And  wrath  and  madness  ruled  the  hour, 
ilade  every  spar  and  timber  bend, 

In  reverence  to  old  Neptune's  power. 

Twas  not  the  howling  winds  I  feared, 
Or  plunging  ship  or  surging  sea, 

For  there  I  stood,  unconscious  of 
The  dangers  which  environed  me  : 

But  thinking  of  one  I  left, 

Who  loved  me,  though  so  far  away, 

I  do  confess  I  wept  at  length 
ily  tears  mixed  with  the  briny  spray. 


66 


I  wept  arid  chided,  like  a  child, 

The  day  when  first  I  came  to  sea, 
When  I  left  loving  Mary  home, 

In  solitude  to  weep  for  me. 
0,  how  her  anxious  breast  must  feel — 

With  what  deep  anguish  must  it  burn, 
As  howls  the  storm  around  her  door, 

For  fear  I  never  will  return. 

But  when  I've  reached  my  destined  port, 

If  I  should  weather  safe  this  gale, 
With  anchor  weighed,  and  sails  well  spread. 

For  home  I'll  hasten  without  fail. 
When  taking  up  the  lengthened  chain 

I  trailed  between  my  home  and  thee, 
As  link  by  link  I  near  my  love, 

I'll  bless  her  for  her  constancy. 
Off1  Hatteras,  Dec.  7th,  1862. 


THE  MOON  HAD  JUST  BOARDED  ATLANTIC'S  BROAD 
RIM. 

The  moon  had  ascended  Atlantic's  broad  rim, 

And  an  ocean  of  silver  presented  to  view, 
The  winds  were  at  rest,  and  the  stars  glimmered  dim, 

And  our  ship  lay  becalmed,  for  no  breezes  blew. 

The  sailor  boy  hied  to  his  hammock  for  rest, 
To  catch  a  few  moments  of  peaceful  repose, 

But,  weary,  he  scarcely  his  mattrass  had  pressed, 
When  in  slumbers  truant  mem'ry  by  visions  arose. 


67 

Wide  o'er  the  deep  he  looked  back  on  the  days 
When  a  child  he  reclined  in  his  father's  green  bowers  * 

Again  by  Ohio  the  sailor  boy  strays, 

And  on  its  gay  banks  he  is  culling  wild  flower**. 

He  watches  young  Jennie,  his  sister,  at  play, 

As  now  on  the  lily  she  rivets  an  eye, 
Or,  transported  with  rapture,  she  drops  on  the  way 

Her  gems,  in  pursuit  of  the  gay  butterfly. 

The  towering  hill  he  ascends  with  delight — 
Surveys  from  its  summit  his  fond  home  below  : 

Now  transparent  rivulets  burst  on  his  sight, 
As  meandering  through  the  green  valleys  they  flow. 

Thus  dreaming  unconsciously,  time  speeds  away, 
While  enjoying  the  haunts  of  his  childhood  awhile ; 

But  midnight  is  past — 'tis  the  dawning  of  day — 
And  the  sailor  boy  wakens  to  danger  and  toil. 

Ah  !  inem'ry,  thou  fiend ;  how  unwelcome  to  some, 
When  we  fancy  -ve've  drowned  thee,  with  all  of  our  care, 

Alone  in  the  still  hours  of  midnight  you  come, 

And  the  breaking  of  morn  finds  us  wrapt  in  despair. 


WE  LAID  HER  IN  THE  DARK  BLUE  SEA. 

We  laid  her  in  the  dark  blue  sea, 

Its  waters  closed  around  her, 
I  saw  her  as  she  sank  from  me, 

In  ocean's  shroud  that  bound  her ; 
Her  face  still  bore  the  very  smile 

That  once  did  on  it  linger ; 
I  took,  to  loneliness  beguile, 

The  ring  upon  her  finger. 


68 


That  ring  I  have,  that  ring  I'll  keep- 
Close  to  my  heart  I'll  place  it ; 

When,  thoughtless,  she  lies  in  the  deep, 
I'll  draw  it  forth  and  face  it. 

'Tis  then  I'll  picture  in  my  mind 
The  lovely  maid  who  wore  it, 

And  fancy  on  its  rim  Fll  find 
The  tender  hand  that  bore  it. 

Then  shall  her  dark  eye,  raven  hair, 

Rush  in  imagination, 
Impress  my  heart,  filled  with  despair. 

The  deepest  of  sensation. 
And  when  I  see  the  surging  brine 

By  winds  coaxed  in  commotion, 
I'll  think  of  her  who  does  reclin* 

Beneath  the  Indian  Ocean. 


ADIEU,  MY  NATIVE  LAND— A  LONG  ADIEU.* 
Adieu,  my  native  land — a  long  adieu! 

My  gallant  bark  impatient  waits  for  me  : 
And  soon  upon  the  ocean's  boundless  blue 

I'll  turn  my  last  and  farewell  look  on  thee. 
Already  weighing  anchor  in  the  bay, 

With  full-swelled  sails  loud  flapping  in  the  blast, 
She,  proud,  careens  upon  her  distant  way, 

With  trembling  timbers  and  with  creaking  mast. 

She  smoothly  parts  the  waters  with  her  prow, 
While  gentle  wavelets  lap  her  starboard  side, 

Afar  to  seaward  bears  again  ;  and  now, 
Majestic,  moves  along  in  all  her  regal  pride. 

*  On  leaving  New  York,  December  7, 1862, 


69 

The  gentle  breeze  that  sweels  her  snow-white  sails 
Is  filled  with  fragrance  from  some  sunny  isle, 

While,  slowly  moving  with  the  spicy  gale, 
My  noble  craft  glides  lordly  on  the  while. 

But  when  again,  land  of  the  brave  and  free, 

Shall  I  return  to  stray  each  emerald  bower, 
Where  often,  in  my  former  childish  glee, 

I've  wasted  many  a  precious  passing  hour  ? 
But  fleeing  time  that,  flying  waits  for  naught, 

May  yet  bring  fortune  on  his  peerless  winga, 
When,  laden  with  good  tidings  or  with  favors  fraught. 

Of  days  again  to  eaunter  by  thy  springs. 


FOR  WEARY  MILES  THE  SHIP  HAD  PLOWED. 
TUNE—"  The  Sky  w  Bright,  the  Breeze  is  Fair." 
For  weary  miles  the  ship  had  plowed 

Her  onward  progress  through  the  sea, 
And  left  behind  a  track  of  foam, 

Which  shone  with  diamond  brilliancy. 
The  royals  to  top-gallant  mast 

With  eager  will  embraced  the  breeze, 
While  canvas  swelled  from  ev'ry  yard, 

From  main-deck  to  the  main  cross-tree*. 
The  ensign  proudly  waved  from  peak, 

The  pennant  gaily  from  the  main, 
Rejoicing  in  the  rising  breeze 

Which  swept  athwart  the  watery  plaia. 
The  waters  playing  round  her  bow 

Would  ever  and  anon  retreat, 
But  only  to  return  again, 

Upon  h«r  oaken  sides  to  beat. 


THE 


AMERICAN    MELODIES. 


III. 


COMPRISING     SUCH     MELODIES     AS   WERE    COMPOSED    DURING    THE 
»  WAR    FOR    THE    UNION*. 


"  The  Union  of  lakes,  the  Union  of  lands, 

The  Union  that  none  can  sever; 
The  Union  of  hearts,  the  Union  of  hands, 

The  American  Union  forerer." 

— AXOSTMOVI. 


THE  MINSTEEL  BOY  HAS  LEFT  THE  PLOW. 
The  minstrel  boy  has  left  the  plow, 

No  more  he  in  the  furrow  sings ; 
Sweet  nature's  warbling  songsters  now 

No  longer  in  his  wild  ear  rings. 
-His  home  that  once  was  in  the  glen 

Which  skirts  Ohio's  tranquil  stream, 
Is  now  in  camp  of  armed  men, 

Where  only  swords  and  bayonets  gleam. 

Where  once  he  saw  the  placid  flood 

Of  crystal  streamlets  purling  by, 
He  now  beholds  the  same  in  blood 

Roll  past  him  in  their  purple  dye. 
But  yent  he  loves  his  native  land, 

For  her  he's  left  the  woodland  shade, 
And  marches  with  her  patriot  band 

To  wield  the  deadly  glist'ning  blade. 

His  march  is  through  wild  Tennessee, 

Where  army  never  trod  before  ; 
He  braves  the  loud  artillery 

And  musketry's  unceasing  roar. 
His  bed  is  on  the  swampy  ground, 

Amid  the  tall  and  treacherous  grass, 
With  deadly  rattlesnakes  around — 

WThere  prowling  alligators  pass. 

His  sabre  is  the  trusty  one, 

His  father  used  on  Trenton's  field, 
Bequeathed  to  his  worthy  son, 

Which  in  his  country's  cause  to  wield. 

4 


74 

How  well  he  has  applied  that  steel 
Let  Corinth  and  red  Shiloh  tell- 
How  many  did  its  temper  feel  ? 
How  many  fighting  'neath  it  fell  ? 


'TWAS  NIGHT,  AND  WEARY  I  SANK  TO  REST. 
TUNE — "  The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  /Swamp." 

7Twas  night,  and,  weary,  I  sank  to  rest, 

For  the  long  day's  march  was  done. 
But  scarcely  had  I  the  damp  ground  press'd, 
When  warlike  dreams  my  mind  distressed 

With  battles  we  had  lost  and  won. 

Very  often  I  thought  I  saw  advanc* 

The  enemy  o'er  across  the  field  ; 
I  caught  the  gleam  of  each  shining  lance — • 
I'd  hear  the  steady  and  measured  prance, 

As  the  cavalry  charged  and  wheeled. 

Again,  I'd  fancy  our  '•  lines"  gave  way — - 

That  our  fate  and  cause  were  sealed  ; 
I'd  grasp  my  rifle  without  delay, 
And  spring  from  the  ground  whereon  I  lay, 
Till,  awake,  the  delusion  revealed. 

Then,  awake,  I'd  listen,  but  all  in  vain, 

For  no  sound  fell  on  my  ear, 
Till,  wrapt  unconscious  in  slumber  again, 
In  dreams  I'd  wander  mid  heaps  of  slain 

That  was  slaughtered  far  and  near. 


75 


And  now  we  routed  the  foe  in  turn, 

Though  red  was  the  field  with  blood ; 
And,  as  each  patriot  heart  would  burn 
With  terrible  vengeance,  all  quarter  spurn, 
As  brave  men  only  would. 

Unbound,  the  iron  dogs  of  hell 

Made  gaps  in  everp  rank, 
While  flew  their  screaming,  screeching  shell ; 
And,  wheresoever  their  vengeance  fell, 

The  ground  their  red  blood  drank. 

The  air  was  filled  with  the  rapid  clash 

Of  the  deadly  sabre  blows, 
Gallant  was  our  cavalry  dash  ; 
While,  raised  aloft,  would  be  seen  to  flash 

The  sharp  steel  o'er  our  foes. 


LAND  OF  THE  BRAVE,  LAND  OF  THE  FREE. 
Land  of  the  brave,  land  of  the  free, 

Our  Union  ne'er  shall  fall, 
Since  yonder  ensign  waved  so  proud 

O'er  Sumter's  massive  wall. 

It's  bore  the  marks  of  many  a  fight, 

Of  many  a  stormy  blast, 
Since  Jasper  climbed  the  tow'ring  pol«, 

And  nailed  it  to  the  mast. 

Then  0,  my  God  and  country ! 

Shall  traitors  live  ?— and  must 
They  tread  upon  my  nation's  flag, 

And  trail  it  in  the  duet  ? 


76 

O,  vengeance !  give  me  here  the  sword 
To  smite  a  treacherous  friend ; 

Their  rights  I'll  give,  but  never  shall 
To  such  vile  insult  bend. 

Woe  !  woe  !  upon  each  cursed  foe, 
And  blood  shall  be  the  cry,     . 

Till  every  miscreant  traitor's  swept 
From  'neath  our  country's  sky. 


COME  WHET  THE  DULL  SWORD. 
Come  whet  the  dull  sword,  and  the  rifle  make  sure, 

And  polish  the  old  rusty  gun, 
We'll  fight  for  a  cause  that  is  holy  and  pure, 

With  a  motto  of  "  many  in  one." 

We've  sworn  on  our  knees,  when  our  forefathers  died, 

To  our  colors  to  ever  prove  true, 
And  the  last  look  they  gave  it  was  cast  on  their  pride, 

Their  pride  of  the  red,  white  and  blue. 

That  banner  in  triumph  has  waved  o'er  the  seas, 

And  ne'er  in  dishonor  shall  fall ; 
It  has  hailed  the  return  of  the  morning's  first  breeze, 

As  it  fluttered  and  waved  o'er  the  wall. 

7Twas  borne  through  the  fight,  on  the  red  battle-field 

Where  our  ancestors  perished  and  fell, 
And  while  life  remains,  the  sword  we  will  wield, 

For  the  emblem  we  cherish  so  well. 

All  hail  to  thee,  flag  of  my  country — all  hail ! 

Many  thousands  may  fall  at  thy  shrine — 
Aye !  millions — and  yet  thy  brave  sons  would  not  quail, 

Nor  the  cause  of  their  country  resign. 


77 


ALONE  I  TROD  THE  DEAD-STREWN  WOODS. 
Alone  I  trod  the  dead-strewn  woods 

Which  skirt  the  banks  of  Tennessee ; 
I  thought,  of  her,  my  former  love, 

My  Alice,  ever  dear  to  me. 
And  as  I  thought  of  her,  far,  far 

Away,  so  many  leagues  from  here, 
Expecting  her  no  more  to  see, 

I  wiped  away  a  fallen  tear. 

7Tis  not  because  I  fear  the  foe, 

As  yonder  dead  can  testify, 
Or  that  I  fear  the  fatal  shot, 

For  I  am  not  afraid  to  die. 
But  when  I  think  that  you,  sweet  maid, 

Will  deeply  mourn  the  loss  you  bore, 
And  that  my  death  will  grieve  you  so, 

It  bleeds  me  to  the  bosom's  core. 

But  when  my  country's  foes  are  crushed, 

And  peace  assumes  her  welcome  reign, 
I'll  ground  my  rifle  for  the  time, 

And  fold  thee  in  these  arms  again. 
Although  I  love  you  stronger  still, 

And  mourn  your  absence  in  my  heart, 
Yet,  know,  sweet  maid,  my  country,  too, 

At  least  should  claim  her  legal  part. 


MY  COUNTRY  CALLS  ME,  I  MUST  HASTEN  AND  GO. 

Farewell,  home  and  friends,  ye  beloved  of  my  bosom, 
To  leave  you  the  sorrowing  tear  feign  must  flow, 

Your  counsels  and  friendship  regret  I  at  losing, 
But  my  country  calls  me— I  must  hasten  and  go. 


78 

No  wonder,  dear  mother,  your  tear-drops  are  falling, 
But  leave  you  I  must,  for  my  country's  foe 

Doth  threaten  our  fireside  with  sorrow  and  wailing, 
And  my  country  calls  me — I  must  hasten  and  go. 

Thou  pride  of  my  heart,  though  your  bosom  is  smarting, 
Most  heavy,  my  darling,  on  you  falls  the  blow, 

But  remember,  my  love,  I  must  tell  you,  ere  parting, 
That  my  country  calls  me — I  must  hasten  and  go. 

Can  I  stand  aloof  from  the  cause  which  I  cherish, 
When  freedom's  at  stake,  and  my  country  ?  0,  no  1 

I'll  fly  to  the  battle-field,  though  I  should  perish, 
For  my  country  calls  me — I  must  hasten  and  go. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DREAM. 
Worn  and  wearied,  I  slept,  on  the  cold  ground  reclining, 

With  naught  for  my  bed  save  a  handful  of  hay  ; 
The  sky  was  unclouded,  the  stars  dimly  shining, 

And,  dreaming,  I  dreamed  of  my  friends  far  away. 
I  thought  that  once  more  I  was  back  to  my  dwelling, 

That  friends,  wife  and  kindred  stood  smiling  around, 
And  amusing  the  children  with  anecdotes  telling, 

Of  famed  men  and  heroes  in  battle  renowned. 

Thus,  blest  with  a  vision  of  home  and  its  pleasures, 

The  hours  glided  by  with  their  flight  scarcely  known  : 
But  vain  were  the  joys,  and  still  vainer  the  treasures, 

As  reason  returns,  they  are  vanished  and  flown. 
But  short  was  the  while  I  was  blest  in  niy  slumber 

With  the  happy  and  fond  recollections  of  home ; 
The  bugle's  shrill  notes  soon  aroused  me  in  wonder, 

To  hear  the  loud  cry  of  "the  foe  come— they  come/' 


OFT  WHEN  I  TREAD  MY  LONELY  BEAT. 

TUNE—"  Our  Flag  is  There." 
Oft  when  I  tread  my  lonely  beat, 

My  mind  reverts,  both  night  and  day, 
To  home,  and  those  connections  sweet, 
Which  I  have  left,  far,  far  away. 

Though  many  miles  doth  intervene 
'Twixt  me  and  those  I  love  so  true, 

Yet,  in  the  midnight  hour,  I  ween, 
Their  well  known  lineaments  I  view. 

But,  say,  fair  silvery  orb  of  light, 
Whose  silvery  face  I  love  to  see, 

O.  say — does  Alice  weep  at  night, 
And  mourn  in  secret  grief  for  me? 

Does  she  not  stray  the  silent  vale$, 
And  long  our  parting  hour  deplore, 

As  in  her  agony  she  wails, 
Along  Ohio's  peaceful  shore? 

0,  was  I  seated  where  thou  art, 

High  in  the  blue,  arched  heavens  above, 

I  feign  would  from  my  orbit  start, 
To  press  her  to  this  breast  of  love. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


IRELAND. 

Respectfully  inscribed  te  T.  F.  Meagher's  Brigade,  whoae  bravery  and 
conspicuous  gallantry,  on  the  battle-fields  of  the  New  World,  in  th« 
cause  of  American  Independence,  entitles  it  to  the  most  sincere  thanks, 
and  lasting  gratitude  of  every  American  heart. 

O,  Erin  !  land  of  chivalry  and  fame, 

Of  patriot  sons  to  freedom  ever  born, 
Who've  nobly  battled  in  our  country's  name, 

And  rushed  to  rescue  in  her  hour  forlorn  ; 
For  who  like  you,  O,  cherished  "  Isle  of  Green/' 

Came  bravely  forward,  in  the  darkest  hours, 
And  side  by  side  thy  Emerald  flag  was  seen, 

In  victory  and  triumph  wave  by  ours. 

Yes,  nobly  has  thy  gallant  sons  behaved, 

To  save  the  Ark  of  Freedom  from  her  foe ; 
For  where  our  flag  successfully  has  waved, 

They've  truly  aided  in  the  crowning  blow. 
Then  can  Columbia  forget  what  share 

Of  true  devotion  by  thy  sons  of  toil  ? 
Whose  patriot  blood  is  mingled  with  her  own  ? 

Whose  patriot  bones  lie  bleaching  on  her  soil  ? 

O,  no,  "Green  Isle!"  0,  no,  thou  "Emerald  Gem!" 

Thy  Corcoran  and  Meagher  wreaths  for  thee 
Have  won  ;  until  that  day  of  liberty  dawns  when 

You'll  win  new  laurels,  struggling  to  be  free. 
When,  thinking  o'er  the  past  upon  that  day, 

America  the  avenging  arm  shall  rise 
To  strike  thy  tyrants — all  thy  deeds  repay, 

And  plant  the  Tree  of  Freedom  'neath  thy  ski«t. 


Thy  consecrated  sons  to  Freedom's  shrine 

Can  ne'er  prove  recreant  to  her  holy  cause, 
Whate'er  betides  them  in  the  course  of  time 

Still  binds  them  closer  to  our  equal  laws. 
Their  blood  is  ever  willing  to  be  shed, 

They're  always  ready  with  a  heroic  arm, 
They  love  to  fill  a  patriot's  gory  bed, 

When  shielding  their  loved  equal  rights  from  harm. 

Columbia  long  shall  cherish  thee,  fair  Isle, 

In  lasting  honor  of  thy  heroic  dead, 
And  as  upon  their  graves  she  weeps  the  while, 

She'll  twine  a  hallowed  wreath  upon  their  bed. 
Can  she  forget  the  sacrifice  you've  made, 

The  noble  bloods  who've  died  in  her  defence? 
No,  no ;  her  thousand  Tones  and  Emmets*  dead 

Shall  cause  her  tears  to  flow  through  ages  hence. 


TOHN  ADAMS'f  LAMENT. 

Respectfully  dedicated   to  Henry  Wallace  Lynch,  of  the   United  Stat*a 
bark  Brazilian. 

My  poor,  down-trodden  country,  when 

Shalt  thou  lift  up  thy  drooping  head  ? 
When  shall  thy  soul  of  freedom  wake, 

To  strike  the  proud  oppressor  dead? 

Where  is  the  fire  which  flamed  your  sires — 
Made  them  forsake  their  native  strand? 

Was  it  to  seek  a  foreign  grave, 
A  home  to  find  in  foreign  land! 

*Two  well  known  martyrs  to  the  cause  of  Liberty  In  Ireland. 

|  The  well  known  patriot  of  Massachusetts,  whose  unflinching  opposi 
tion  to  British  tyranny  and  oppression  made  his  »ame  conspicuous  in  th» 
annals  of  the  Revolution. 


83 


No  ;  knceliug  on  a  barren  rock* 

When  they  had  crossed  Atlantic's  wave, 

They  raised  a  song  of  praise  to  God, 

And  swore  they  ne'er  would  live  a  slave. 

And  is  this  not  your  native  land  ? 

And  is  this  not  their  blessed  sod? 
Why  will  ye  kneel  to  haughty  kings, 

And  bear  their  vile  and  cursed  rod  ? 

Then  rise,  my  countrymen,  arise! 

Shake  off  the  shanie  of  former  years ; 
Laugh  at  the  tyrants  when  they  treat, 

And  wipe  your  eyes,  and  dry  your  tears. 

Remember,  oh  !  remember,  then, 

Each  spot  whereon  your  feet  doth  tread  ; 

For  every  inch,  or  foot,  or  rod, 

Was  hallowed  by  your  fathers'  dead. 

And  will  you  view  this  lovely  land 
By  boasting  tyrants  lorded  round  ? 

0,  wake,  my  countrymen,  awake ! 
Strike  the  oppressors  to  the  ground  1 


LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP. 

In  this  world  there  are  many  who  call  themselves  friends— 
They  are  friends  while  the  favors  of  fortune  «xtend ; 
Then  let  it  but  blow  in  an  opposite  way, 
When  "  I  never  did  know  such  a  on«,"  they  would  §ay. 

*  Plymouth  Rook,  Massachusetts, 


84 

O,  riches !  what  mighty  allurements  thou  hast — 
Alas  !  for  the  one  who  has  treasure  too  vast ; 
The  deceitful  will  follow,  his  friendship  will  own, 
But  when  poverty  strikes  him  their  friendship  is  gone. 

Such  friendship,  my  friend,  does  exist  not  in  you ; 
Your  love  it  is  purer,  more  constant  and  true  ; 
To  your  friends  be  the  same,  and  heed  not  fortune's  blast, 
But  stand  by,  unsullied,  a  friend  to  the  last. 


OHIO.* 
Along  thy  verdant  banks  I  love  to  stray, 

And  by  thy  crystal  sfream,  Ohio,  fair, 
And  hear  the  jovial  thrush  and  robin's  lay 

Warble  resonant  on  the  morning  air. 

O,  who  would  not  delight  to  rove  along 

Thy  halcyon  waters,  glassy,  clear  ; 
The  first  to  hail  the  linnet's  blythest  song, 

Which  greets  at  dawn  the  early  riser's  ear. 

Yes ;  lovely  are  thy  banks  in  autumn's  morn, 
Yet  lovelier  far  when  spring  does  first  return, 

And  spreads  upon  the  bramble  and  the  thorn 
The  garb  for  which  they  now  no  longer  yearn. 

'Tis  pleasant,  too,  just  at  the  close  of  even', 
To  feel  the  gentle  zephyrs  balmy  blow, 

And  view  the  fast  declining  light  of  Heaven 

Flushed  with  that  gorgeous  golden,  western  glow. 


*This  river,  meandering  between  the  hills  of  Southern  Ohio  and 
Western  Virginia,  presents  some  of  the  most  picturesque  and  lovely 
scenery  imaginable.  During  the  months  of  June,  July  and  August  the 
transparency  of  its  waters  is  remarkable,  winning  for  it  the  appellation 
of  "La  Belle  Riviere,"  a  title  but  justly  bestowed. 


I  would  not  part  thy  wild,  meandering  stream 
For  all  the  waters  of  the  east  or  west, 

For  0,  I  love  the  bright,  enamelled  gleam 
Of  sunset  on  thy  crimson-purple  breast. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 

Columbia,  the  glory  and  pride  of  thy  nation 
Has  vanished,  and  left  us  but  only  his  name  ; 

A  star's  disappeared  from  thy  bright  constellation, 
How  pure  was  its  lustre,  how  spotless  its  fame. 

Though  that  star  has  descended,  its  fame  is  increasing, 
And  brighter  and  brighter  'twill  eternally  burn  ; 

While  the  tears  of  his  country  shall  fall  without  ceasing, 
To  honor  hie  mem'ry  and  hallow  his  urn. 

Farewell,  then,  great  Irving,  imperishable,  unfading 
Thy  laurels  shall  be,  though  thy  spirit  has  fled  ; 

Thy  countrymen  never  shall  be  found  evading 
The  honor  they  owe  the  illustrious  dead. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  WILLIAM  BETHEL* 

When  nobles  and  monarchs  have  closed  their  career, 

There  is  many  to  write  of  their  doom  ; 
But  how  few  are  the  hearts  for  to  sigh  o'er  their  bier, 

And  the  tears  that  are  shed  on  their  tomb. 

But  thou,  humble  Bethel,  I  long  will  lament, 

Alas  !  whom  thy  friend  could  not  save  ; 
But  as  they  pass  by  thee,  with  willing  consent. 

They'll  shed  a  sad  tear  on  thy  grave. 

IBmjjpB 

*  Written  at  the  request  of  a  young  lady  on  the  death  of  her  lorer. 


tt 

LINES  ON  THE  OHIO.* 

Bespectfully  inscribed  to  Miss  Alice  Gardner,  of  Quaker  Bottom,  Law 
rence  County,  Ohio. 

Eoll  on,  fair  stream  ;  Ohio  roll 

Thy  placid  waters  on  their  way  ; 
Green  are  the  banks  which  hold  your  tide 

In  meek  submission  to  their  sway. 
Grand  are  the  hillsf  which  overlook 

The  spreading  "bottoms"  far  and  wide, 
Where  bright  appears  each  gentle  brook 

That  pours  along  its  gentle  tide. 

Below  the  cotter's  house  appears 

Embosomed  in  ancestral  trees, 
From  whence  the  country  maiden's  song 

Comes  borne  upon  the  gentle  breeze. 
And  from  the  rip'ning  fields  of  grain 

Is  heard  the  merry  laugh  of  glee — 
The  tasseled  corn,  with  waving  plumes, 

Kolls  like  the  billows  of  the  sea. 

Then  when  the  twilight's  wed  the  day, 

And  when  is  heard  the  lowering  cow, 
The  rustic  lads  come  signing  home, 

The  chattering  blackbirds  leave  the  plow. 
The  lark  begins  to  seek  her  nest, 

Amid  the  meadows  now  so  green  ; 
The  noisy  crows,  above  the  trees, 

With  sluggish  flight  are  nowhere  seen. 

*  Written  in  Rome  township,  Lawrence  county,  Ohio,  July,  1860. 
f  I  was  standing  on  those  truly  "  grand  hills  "  when  the  abova  lines 
occurred  to  memory. 


8T 


The  Bwallow,  which  was  all  day  long, 

A  skimming  o'er  the  river's  breast, 
Has  sought  the  good  old  farmer's  barn, 

And  enugs  securely  in  her  nest. 
Now  from  the  hill  the  owl  descends, 

And,  perched  upon  the  crumbling  mill, 
With  doleful  cries  disturbs  the  vale, 

In  concert  with  the  whip-poor-will. 

And  now  the  frogs,  from  marsh  and  pond, 

With  tireless  throats,  beguile  the  hour ; 
While  countless  fire-flies  show  their  light 

Through  every  bramble,  bush  and  bower. 
The  bat,  with  restless  wing,  is  seen 

In  rapid  circles  through  the  air, 
As,  darting  on  each  insect  thing, 

In  haste  obtains  his  nightly  fare. 
Now  Luna,  from  the  balmy  east, 

Secures  her  throne,  while  not  a  cloud 
Envelopes  her  fair,  silvery  face, 

Or  soils  her  beauty  with  a  shroud ; 
But,  from  her  queenly  seat  on  high, 

She  smiles- in  silent  grandeur  down, 
Adorns  the  landscape  with  her  rays, 

And  gilds  the  spires  of  yonder  town,* 

The  fox,  imprisoned  in  his  cell, 

From  whence  he  dare  not  now  retire, 
Lest  Luna's  light  his  steps  betray, 

And  guide  the  hunter's  deadly  fire. 
The  'possum  seeks  secure  retreat 

Amid  the  paw-paw's  trackless  growth. 
Till,  forced  by  hunger  or  by  want, 

In  search  of  food  she  sallies  forth. 

MMM 

*  Guyandotte,  Virginia. 


And  now  the  moon's  pale,  slanting  beami 

Foretells  another  coming  day ; 
While  in  the  east  the  encroaching  light 

Disperse  the  stars  before  its  sway. 
Now  silence  reigns  around  supreme, 

And  hushed  is  the  nocturnal  fowl ; 
The  morning  calms  the  whip-poor-will, 

And  daylight  rests  the  screeching  owl. 


BATTLE  OF  SOMERSET.* 
I  gazed,  and  lo  !  afar  and  near, 
With  hastening  speed,  now  there,  now  here, 
The  horseman  rode  with  glittering  spear — 
'Twas  awful  to  behold  ! 

Ten  thousand  men,  in  dread  array — 
On  every  hill  and  mound  they  lay—' 
A  dreadful  sight  it  was  that  day 

To  see  the  front  they  formed. 

The  polished  sabres,  waving  high, 
Flashed  brightly  in  the  morning  sky  ; 
While,  beaming  on  dazzled  eye, 

The  glittering  bayonets  shone. 

All,  all  was  hushed  among  the  trees, 
Save  now  and  then  a  gentle  breeze, 
Which  stirr'd  the  brown  and  serried  leaves 
That  in  the  forest  lay. 


*  The  battle  of  Somerset  (or  Mill  Spring,  as  it  is  more  commonly 
called)  was  fought  in  Kentucky,  between  the  rebel  forces  under  Zolli- 
coffer,  and  the  Union  forces  under  General  Thomas.  Here  it  was  the 
former  fell. 


But  what  i«  that  which  greet*  mine  eye* 
le  it  Columbia's  sons  I  spy? 
Hark  !  hark  !  I  hear  their  battle  cry  — 
Their  shouts  of  victor    ! 


hotter  does  the  conflict  grow  ; 
While  dealing  death  in  every  blow, 
McCook  charged  on  the  routed  foe 
His  daring  little  band. 

Rest,  patriots,  rest  ;  the  conflicts  o'er. 
Your  erring  brethren  punished  sore  ; 
O.  would  they'd  fight  their  friends  no  mor«, 
And  cease  this  blood  v  strii'e. 


SWKET  MARY. 
Sweet  Mary,  though  I'm  tar  away — 

Far  from  my  peaceful  home  and  thee- 
Yet  let  not  absence  break  the  ray 

Of  love  that  binds  thy  heart  to  me. 
Though  many  long,  long  leagues  divide 

Us,  still  I  cannot  think  but  you, 
Though  parted  by  our  distance  wide, 

In  love  is  constant  and  is  true. 

Since  last  I  saw  thy  form  divine, 

Full  many  a  month  has  passed  away  : 
But  is  your  love  as  strong  as  mine — 

As  strong  as  mine,  O,  who  can  saj  ? 
I  cannot  say  you  love  me  not. 

And  yet  it  does  so  often  seem 
That  if  I  was  not  quite  forgot. 

You'd  wrote  to  me  ere  this.  I  weem. 


90 


But,  Mary,  should  I  judge  you  wrong — 

For  who  the  heart's  dark  secrets  know — 
0,  tell  me  if  affection's  strong 

As  ;t  was  in  absent  years  ago. 
Yet  I'll  remember,  till  I  die, 

The  day  and  hour  when  we  did  part ; 
The  years  may  roll,  the  seasons  fly, 

And  still  you  hold  enthralled  my  heart. 


FAITH. 

As  points  the  needle  which  directs 

The  ship  upon  the  ocean's  breast, 
Until  the  mariner  detects 

The  distant  port  he's  sailed  in  quest, 
So  Faith  points  to  a  port  above, 

Where  all  is  bliss  without  alloy ; 
It  points,  as  on  life's  sea  we  rove, 

To  that  fair  haven  of  endless  joy* 


HOPE. 
As  gleams  the  lonely  beacon  light 

Athwart  the  wild,  tempestuous  sea, 
And  shows  the  storm-tossed  ship,  at  night, 

A  harbor  safe,  whence  she  may  flee, 
So  Hope,  upon  the  sea  of  life, 

Will  rise  a  beacon  to  the  soul, 
And  guide  us  on,  through  danger,  strife, — 

On  safely  to  our  destined  goal. 


91 


CHARITY. 

As  dew  is  to  the  drooping  flowed, 

As  rain  is  to  the  budding  rose, 
That,  grateful  for  the  needed  shower, 

Their  loveliest  colors  all  disclose. 
So  Charity  infuses  joy, 

Distills  its  gifts  on  all  around, 
Which  otherwise,  for  want,  might  die, 

And  lose  its  sweetness  in  the  ground. 


LOVE. 

What  is  true  love?  'tis  like  the  vine 

That  winds  around  the  sapling  in  the  grove, 

Or  clings  tenacious  to  the  forest  pine 
In  fond  embraces, — such  is  love ; 

And  such  is  love— the  fatal  axe  which  fell* 
The  stately  forest  pine  or  sapling  low, 

Though  every  stroke  upon  the  huge  trunk  tells. 


SORROW. 
The  rose,  beneath  a  burning  sun, 

Will  wither,  pine  and  die, 
The  greenest  spot  on  earth  become 

A  barren  desert,  dry. 
So  Sorrow  will  the  true  soul  grieve, 

Oppress  the  fevered  mind, 
And  on  life's  rosy  pathway  leavt 

A  barren  waste  behind. 


DEATH. 
And  what  is  death?  'tis  but  a  transit  from 

A  transient  life  of  misery  to  life 
Eternal  in  the  Heavens,  where  we'll  come 

Into  a  heritage  devoid  of  strife  ; 
It  is  the  harbinger  of  happiness, 

The  portal  to  another,  better  world, 
A  world  immutable,  of  endless  bliss, 

That  never  vet  was  to  thy  mind  unfurled. 


PERSEVERANCE. 
Perseverance  is  a  gift  bequeathed  from  God, 

The  only  road  to  affluence  and  to  fame, 
And  few  that  highway  faithfully  have  trod, 

But  what  they've  left  a  great,  illustrious  name. 
If  you,  my  friend,  would  tread  it,  make  your  mark ; 

Then  to  attain  your  object  onward  press, 
Through  fortune's  smiles  and  bleak  misfortunes  dark, 

Remembering  'tis  the  true  source  of  success. 


FRIENDSHIP. 
Like  an  oasis  in  the  desert  wide, 

A  fertile  spot  upon  a  sandy  plain, 
Where,  thirsty,  famished  travellers  are  supplied 

With  what  to  them's  most  needful  to  obtain. 
So  Friendship,  in  this  world  of  woe  and  care, 

Will  fall  like  fragrance  on  the  frozen  heart. 
To  many  who  might  otherwise  despair, 

Its  gifts  of  consolation  will  impart. 


HUMILITY. 

The  humblest  rose  is  not  the  least  admired, 

Nor  will  it  less  attract  the  passer's  eye 
Because  in  gaudy  colors  unattired ; 

The  less  with  the  most  beautiful  does  vie. 
So  man,  however  humble  will  be  seen, 

AVhate'er  his  lot  within  this  world  may  be. 
Pride  makes  him  but  obnoxious  to  esteem ; 

He's  honored  more  for  his  humility. 


INTEMPERANCE. 
As  the  serpent,  with  some  hidden  wile, 

"Will  lure  the  bird  to  sure  destruction  OD, 
By  some  mysterious  glance  beguile 

The  unsuspecting  victim  to  its  doom, 
So  will  the  luring  glass  attract  the  gaze, 

The  treacherous  cup,  the  poisoned  bowl. 
Until  the  senses  wander  in  a  maze, 

And  sure  destruction  overtakes  the  soul. 


PART  I. 

P»g«. 

War  Song * 9-10 

Stung  by  remorse,  we  oft  look  buck 10 

On  Washington 11-12 

Dear  laud  of  my  fathers,  with  what  fond  endearments 12-13 

0,  dear,  honored  daj 13-14 

Banks  of  Champlaiu 14 

Behold  the  proud  freeman  by  his  lovely  Ohio 15 

0,  give  me  my  home  in  the  West 15-16 

How  long  could  I  sit  on  thy  beach,  lovely  Erie? 16-17 

The  Xew  Englander's  farewell 17-18 

When  I  was  a  young  lad 18-19 

My  heart  I  leave  behind  me 19-20 

The  heart ; 20 

Along  Cayuga's  shore  I  strayed 21 

Lovely  Boston  Bay 21-22 

Sweet  Phebe ". 22-23 

0,  come,  w.y  love,  and  rove  with  me 23-24 

Ye  factions  that  try  to  dissolve  this  great  Union 24-25 

Liberty's  shrine 25 

Float  on,  noble  banner 

0,  well  may  ye  buast,  ye  proud  sons  of  Columbia 

When  dark  clouds  of  sorrow 27 

How  secure  does  Columbia  slumber 

The  kiss 

Beside  the  Susquehanaa 

Erie's  shore 30 

Banks  of  Mohawk 

Dear  Persia,  I've  prayed  aud  petitioned 31-32 

Where  Schuylkill  meets  the  Delaware 32-33 

A  lock  of  thy  hair  to  remember  thee  by 

New  Jersey,  thy  borders  are  wild  and  romantic 34 

The  orphan's  lament 

My  love  to  you  I  can't  express 

Vale  of  Monroe 37 

My  darling,  indeed  it  is  certain 37—38 

A  lone  wanderer,  I  sat  on  the  banks  of  Ohio 38-39 

The  Laplander  loves  his  cold,  icy  retreat 39-40 

Flow  on,  lovely  Hudson.. 40-41 

And  will  you  rove  with  me,  sweet  maid  ? 

Hoist  that  proud  flag 

0,  far,  far  away,  by  Potomac's  calm  breast 42-43 

That  is  the  flag 43-44 

Sing  low,  sweet  bird,  beside  that  stream 44— 4j 

Farewell,  dear  Angeline,  farewell 45 

My  Mary's  gone  !  my  Mary's  gone  ! 46-47 

Battle  song 47-48 

The  American's  farewell  to  his  native  country,  Ac 48-49 

Can  I  forget  the  land  where  I  ? 49 

Land  of  liberty , 50 


M 


. 

California's  shore  ..........  .  ....................................................  .30-51 

0,  Emma,  thy  brow  is  like  marble  ........................................  51-52 

The  emigrant's  farewell  on  leaving  Old  England  .....................  52-53 

Through  the  waving  fields  of  green  ......................................  53 

0,  frowu  not  ou  me  now,  love  ..............................................  153-54 

0,  let  me  to  the  woodland  flee  ..............................................  55 

Ye  departed,  who  perished  and  died  for  your  country  ...............  55-56 

War  song  ........................................................................  56-57 

Meet  me  by  the  silvery  tide  ...............................................  57-58 

Come,  Jane,  the  flowers  are  blooming  ....................................  58-59 

Along  fair  Hudson's  verdant  banks  ......................................  59-60 

Ye  gallant  few,  who  fought  and  bled  ....................................  60-61 

Allot'  the  friends  attached  to  me  .........................................  61. 

If  you  love  me  as  I  love  thee  ...............................................  61-62 

PART  IL 

I  paced  upon  the  quarter-deck  .............................................  o'5-6ii 

The  moon  had  just  boarded  Atlantic's  broad  rim  .....................  66-67 

We  laid  her  in  the  dark  blue  sea  ..........................................  67-68 

Adieu,  my  native  land  —  a  long  adieu  ...................................  68-69 

For  weary  miles  the  ship  had  plowed  ...................................  69 

PART  III. 

The  minstrel  boy  has  left  the  plow  .......................................  73-74 

'Twas  night,  and  weary  I  sank  to  rest  ...................................  74-75 

Land  of  the  brave,  land  of  the  free  ......................................  75-76 

Come,  whet  the  dull  sword  ..................................................  76 

Alone  I  trod  the  dead-strewn  woods  ......................................  77 

My  country  calls  me,  I  must  hasten  and  go  ............................  77-78 

The  soldier's  dream  ...........................................................  78 

Oft  when  I  tread  my  lonely  beat  ..........................................  79 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Ireland  ...........................................................................  81-82 

John  Adams'  lament  ..........................................................  82-82 

Love  and  friendship  ...........................................................  83-84 

Ohio  ...............................................................................  84-85 

On  the  death  of  Washington  Irving  .....................................  85 

On  the  death  of  William  Bethel  ...........................................  85 

Lines  on  the  Ohio  ..............................................................  86-87-88 

Battle  of  Somerset  ...........................................................  88-89 

Sweet  Mary  .....................................................................  89-90 

Faith  ..............................................................................  90 

Hope  ..............................................................................  90 

Charity  ..........................................................................  91 

Love  ..................................  ...........................................  91 

Sorrow  .................................................  ......................  ......  91 

Death  ............................................................................  92 

Perseverance  ....................................................................  92 

Friendship  ...................................................................  (..  92 

Humility  .........................................  .'..',..,....,....,'...'.,,!....!,,.  93 

latemperanoe  .......................  98 


MOD1/UZ 


The  Ameri 


can  melodieii 


C967 
arae 


M551701 


VC159IU1 


